A Place to Call Home
by elle-nora
Summary: New and now complete! With three decades of immortality under her belt, Diana Hamilton thinks she's ready for anything. But two enemies of Duncan MacLeod are watching her and have other plans. A sequel to No Place to Run, Nowhere to Hide.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **_The following short story is a sequel to the short story **No Place to Run, Nowhere to Hide**, which can be found on this site. elle_

* * *

**Highlander: _A Place to Call Home_**

_Home is the sailor, home from the sea,  
__And the hunter, home from the hill.  
_from _Requiem_ by Robert Louis Stevenson

**Chapter One  
****San Francisco, CA, Autumn 1993**

When Diana Hamilton felt the tingle of another immortal, she glanced up from her production meeting and through the plate glass windows facing the reception area one level down. A small smile crossed her full lips.

Straightening up from the table she recapped her marker. "That should do it… Any questions?" There were none as the meeting broke up and her staff headed out of the conference room to complete their tasks for the new campaign.

Diana glanced in a mirror, smoothed her auburn hair and adjusted the collar of her pink silk blouse. Her dark gray pantsuit showed off her slim and well-toned figure. She took a deep breath. With head held high, she exited the conference room, bypassing several underlings with a wave of her hand as she descended the open staircase.

"Duncan," she grinned as they clasped hands and he kissed either cheek, "Now what brings you to San Francisco."

Duncan MacLeod shrugged with a teasing grin. "Just stopped by to see how you were." Diana saw something haunted in his eyes.

She clasped his arm and turned to the receptionist. "Tell Marcy I'm taking an early lunch and will be out of the office."

"Yes Ms. Hamilton," the girl replied.

Diana smiled at her old teacher. "Do I need my coat?"

Duncan chuckled, fully aware of what she was really asking. "I don't think so."

Ten minutes later at **_Caspar's_,** an upscale restaurant within walking distance of her office, Diana and Duncan were seated at a secluded table.

"The food here is marvelous," she said barely glancing at her menu. Instead, she stared at Duncan… his dark hair was long and pulled back in a ponytail and his soft overcoat barely hid the shape of his developed muscles. "You've been working out," she said archly.

Duncan glanced up and nodded soberly. "It's been a rough year. I didn't have much choice." There was a sadness in his gaze… that spoke of loss.

Diana waited quietly. She knew the Scots immortal well enough to know that something was on his mind… and that he'd tell her when he was ready. Duncan MacLeod was a man of deep convictions and loyalties. She'd learned that thirty years ago when he'd first found her… and saved her from an early and permanent death at the hands of Jonathan Kelso.

She took a sip of her water and smiled at the memory of that long ago day. The day she'd discovered that she was an immortal… and that she'd have to learn to kill… or be killed.

She'd turned thirty that fall. Her husband Richard had suggested a trip to the mountains… ostensibly to see the turning of the leaves. They'd both wanted children… and Richard had thought a long relaxing week away from deadlines and headlines would work wonders. He'd rented a cottage in the Appalachians and they'd lost themselves for four days within the honeymoon atmosphere of the place. Then Richard had decided it was time to really see the fall colors.

They'd packed a picnic lunch and driven deep into the mountains… on roads seldom traveled… at least by tourists. Amazed at the scope of color and the wonderment of the mountain landscape… they'd journeyed too far… and become lost. As darkness had begun to fall… Richard had driven faster and faster… hoping to find their way back.

What he'd found, instead, was death. A deer had jumped onto the road. Richard had swerved sharply to avoid it. The car flew off and down into a ravine… and crashed. The next thing Diana had been aware of was climbing from the car as it exploded… and being helped back to the road by one of the mountain residents… Caleb Dawes.

Diana still held a soft spot in her heart for the old mountain man and his wife. Millie had died about eight years ago… but Caleb still lived on the mountain with his daughter and her family. The old man had nearly died in his attempt to protect the newly immortal Diana from the headhunting Jonathan Kelso. Had it not been for Duncan MacLeod's intervention… both she and Caleb would have died.

She could recall the event clearly. She'd not understood what had happened to her. She'd been grieving for Richard… but the events of that evening and the following day were like crystal images in her mind. She could still taste the sweetened iced tea or smell the bog where Duncan had fought Kelso. She could hear the sounds of the crash… and the hum of the insects during that fight. She could feel the pain of reviving… and the wonder of that first quickening she'd seen. Duncan had helped her move from lost newborn immortal into a confident player of the game. All Diana was now… she owed to Duncan MacLeod.

"Tessa's dead," Duncan finally said after they'd ordered lunch and the waiter had left.

Diana stared. She'd met Tessa briefly about ten years ago in Paris… shortly after Duncan had begun seeing the young French art student. At the time, Tessa had not known about Duncan's immortality… although that would shortly change. Duncan was, at least to Diana's eyes, totally and completely in love.

"I'm so sorry… what happened," she reached shakily for her glass of water and gulped some down.

"Random street violence… some junkie looking for money. When she didn't have any to give… he shot and killed her. I just got back from Paris. I took her remains over to be buried there… in our city."

He fingered his drink… his eyes obviously focused on a memory. Suddenly he shivered as he picked the glass up and took a long drink. "Sorry," he smiled briefly, "I didn't mean to get maudlin."

Reaching out with one hand to gently clasp his, Diana offered softly, "It's not maudlin. It's life. You were the one who helped me face a future without the man I loved… How can I help?"

Duncan nodded thoughtfully, "Did I? Did I help you?"

"You know you did."

He shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder if I ever help anyone." He met her gaze directly. "Everyone around me dies."

"Who else died, Duncan?"

His eyes widened at her sudden understanding. He nodded briefly, as if making up his mind about something, and leaned forward. "A young man who worked for me was with Tessa. He was also shot."

Diana's gaze narrowed. Suddenly a small gasp escaped her throat. "One of us."

Duncan nodded. "Now I have to decide what to do. Do I train him? Or do I send him away to learn from a more capable teacher?"

"You care about this young man's survival?"

Again he nodded.

"But you're a wonderful teacher, Duncan."

Duncan shrugged. He was hurting… and right now… Diana wondered if he even cared about surviving, much less teaching another one of them to survive. He needed to know a future was still possible.

The server brought their lunch and withdrew. Diana fingered her fork as she shifted the lettuce of her salad back and forth… and then stabbed at a chunk of chicken and lifted it delicately to her mouth. She noticed Duncan was doing much the same. He'd lifted his fork… and was holding it poised above his salad… but his eyes were vacant… as if his thoughts were elsewhere.

_He's vulnerable right now_, Diana thought. To be vulnerable, and to be immortal, meant that one did not enter into a challenge with a desire to win. He'd taught her that. Duncan had forced her to face her loss… deal with it… and move on.

"_If you don't…_" he'd told her thirty years ago, "_… you'll die. The first challenger you come up against will see that and use it against you. You're immortal. You lived. He died. Now survive… or join him in death_." He'd slid his _katana_ along her neck to illustrate his point.

Diana had chosen survival. She'd taken three heads in thirty years… all immortals who'd challenged her. Two had been female… one slightly older than she was and one younger and evidently untrained. The male she'd killed… had been substantially older… and his quickening within her had given her a great deal of confidence in the business world… and in life itself. It had also helped her move beyond a celibate lifestyle.

A small, warm smile crossed Diana's lips. Then she shook her head. _Totally inappropriate under the circumstances_, she chided herself.

"Do you want to send him to me?" Diana finally said aloud. "I mean… I don't know him… He doesn't know me… but if it would help?"

Duncan shook his head. "I didn't come to beg you to take Richie on… I'm just not certain if I can help him get that killer edge that keeps us going." Duncan sighed as if the weight of the world had settled once more on his shoulders.

Diana understood. She'd seen this in him before… this need to somehow save them all… this need to protect his friends and students from the forces that would destroy them all. He seldom hunted. The only reason he'd been on Kelso's tail that day thirty years ago, was that the man had killed two of Duncan's students… one a young woman he was intimately involved with. Perhaps that was why the Highlander had been so hard on Diana… and why they'd never been more than friends.

Granted, in the time between Richard's death and her taking the quickening of Samuel Quentin… Diana had taken little interest in sex. Ahh… but afterwards. By then, of course… she'd moved on and Duncan was in Europe. If he hadn't been with Tessa when she'd looked him up ten years ago in Paris… who knows what might have happened. _Things happen for a reason_, she thought. _Maybe we were never an item just so that I could be his friend… now_.

Diana sipped her water. "Well then… you've decided to teach him."

Duncan stared at her dully.

"And of course that means… you have to be in good shape and on your game."

Duncan nodded. Diana could see the barest hint of a smile teasing at the corners of his mouth.

"To that end… you need a sparring session."

Duncan's smile was a little broader now as he nodded.

"Someone safe… someone who doesn't want your head… someone who knows your tricks and can push you a bit." She winked.

Duncan nodded. His smile was pronounced.

Diana lay her fork down and reached for her purse. "I have to go back to the office. I have a meeting scheduled in an hour, but…" She pulled out a business card. "… meet me here at five." She handed him the card with the address of the gym she frequented.

Duncan took it with a chuckle and then stared at his salad. "Why do I think I should have ordered something a little more filling?"

Diana laughed. "I'll let you buy me dinner."

-----

**_Silvio's Gym_** was a busy and upscale place to work out. Diana had never sensed another immortal here… and sensing one now as she checked in… was unnerving. _Duncan_, she insisted to herself, _It's only Duncan_. The card she'd given him would allow him to use the facilities as her guest. Already she could sense he was in the small sparring facility to the rear of the main floor.

Diana changed in the women's locker room into sweat pants and a sports bra. For a moment she considered which weapon to take. Normally she never carried her heavy challenge sword in here… opting instead for a foil or training sticks… or her smaller lightweight blade that served her in emergencies. Chuckling to herself, she pulled the stronger blade out. Duncan likely had only his _katana_ with him. If she were going to give him a real workout… help him exorcise his demons… and his sorrow and guilt… she'd need the heavy one. They'd just have to be careful.

Entering the windowless room, she took in the mats spread across the floor and hanging on the walls. Two men, Tom Considine and Pat Davis were lounging against one wall… watching Duncan go through his _kata_.

She'd sparred with them occasionally over the years… and beaten them soundly every time… Tom had made some comment at one time about how unusual it was to find a woman who really was into this stuff. Pat had laughed and wished aloud that he wasn't married. Diana joked with them… but did not socialize with them.

On the far side of the room… Duncan MacLeod was deep into his workout. He'd stripped down to a pair of sweatpants, his bare chest gleaming with sweat. His dark hair hung damply about his head, and Diana could not help but notice how developed his muscles were. He hadn't been kidding when he'd said he'd had a hard year. Evidently he'd been working out quite a bit.

_And even with all of that_, she thought, _… you couldn't save her… or prevent your young friend from joining the game_.

Setting her bag down in a corner, she watched Duncan's moves for several moments.

Pat laughed aloud. "I think maybe this guy could give you a run for your money, Di!"

Diana nodded. "I'm certain of it."

When Duncan finished and glanced at her, Diana bowed and introduced her _sensei _to the others. Immediately their faces reflected a sudden understanding of why Diana usually wiped the floor with them.

"No wonder you're such a hardass when we spar," Pat said and held out one hand to Duncan in a firm handshake. "You should be proud of her. She's in here coupla times a week… very dedicated."

Duncan returned the grip and smiled with a slight teasing smirk. "Coupla times a week? Thought I taught you to work on this daily."

Diana laughed. "Coupla times a week… here."

Then he walked over to the mats. "Shall we?"

"With or without?"

Duncan glanced at the two men. "Without… I'm warmed up… but I doubt you are." If people were watching… he'd likely not want to spar with their weapons.

Diana nodded and laid her blade aside as she stretched and warmed up with a few sample moves. She'd warmed up some in the locker room… so that she was more ready than he'd have thought, perhaps.

-----

Ten minutes later, both of them were sweat-drenched and breathing heavily as they circled for another go around. Duncan's technique was flawless as always… but Diana could sense him holding back… not really wanting to hurt her in front of witnesses… and it was there that Diana saw an opening. Not much of one… but a tiny glimmer of something she could try.

After one particularly brutal chop on her arm… Diana grasped it in pain… as if it were broken and turned from Duncan moaning and bending over. As expected… he dropped his guard and leaned over her with concern on his face.

"Diana?"

At that point she struck, tripping him up and lashing forward with one fist into his face. Then she pulled back smirking.

Duncan glanced up at her as he rubbed his jaw. "You _have_ been practicing."

"I had a great teacher," Diana grinned as she bounced on the balls of her feet. He'd be after her now… but maybe he needed to.

Tom and Pat gave her a round of slow and measured applause sprinkled with laughter. "Way to go Di! Love to stay… babe… but dinner calls. See ya!"

"Cowards!" she yelled after them. Her eyes never left Duncan. He winked and then glanced at their swords. "Thought you'd never ask," Diana said as she backed up to get hers.

Moments later the practice room was filled with the urgent sounds of steel on steel. It took only minutes before Duncan disarmed his student and laid his _katana_ against her neck. "I see your sword skills haven't progressed as well as your martial arts skills and hand-to hand."

Diana shrugged and lifted her head, exposing her neck more fully to his blade… a show of respect and acknowledgment that he was the master. "I find I don't need the sword as much as just being able to wipe up the parking lot with would-be muggers."

Lowering the _katana_ and stepping away from her, Duncan bent to retrieve her sword and toss it to her. "Perhaps you should."

Diana raised one eyebrow as she caught the broadsword and flourished it expertly. "Why?"

"The Gathering."

Diana's eyes widened. "I don't feel a pull to go anywhere or kill every immortal I meet. Maybe you're wrong."

"I'm not wrong." Duncan picked up a white towel from the floor and mopped his face. "The Gathering is here. You need to be prepared."

"And your young friend?"

Duncan was silent as he seemed to consider what she was saying and not saying.

"If it is the Gathering… how long will he survive without proper training? He won't have centuries or even decades to learn. He may not even have years." Diana closed in on him and gently brushed one damp lock of his hair from his face with a smile. Then she stepped away, making it clear by giving him space, that she was only concerned for him… and for his young friend.

"I will spend more time with my sword, Duncan… but if the Gathering is here… my days are numbered… and you know that. Maybe all our days are numbered."

Duncan nodded slowly as he regarded her. Diana saw an even greater pain in his eyes than just what he was dealing with.

"Who else?" she finally asked.

Duncan sighed deeply. "Darius was murdered a few months ago."

Diana's eyes widened. She'd never met the priest… but Duncan had spoken of him in glowing terms when she'd been his student. "_A great general who gave up a warrior's life to become a man of peace_," she recalled him saying. "_He's likely the best of us_." If even Darius had been taken… then the future looked dark indeed.

"I want you to be careful," Duncan said softly. "There are mortals who watch us… and sometimes… they kill us. They have no respect for holy ground."

"Mortals?" Diana mumbled as she tried to make sense of this. "Mortals killed Darius? Why?"

Duncan shook his head. "Jealousy… madness… who knows. All I know is that there are dangers out there. I just wanted you to know."

The door opened and two other patrons entered. Diana nodded as she gathered her things. "I'll meet you outside," she said quietly and left.

-----

Following a shower and a change of clothes… soft slacks, a T-shirt, a suede jacket, boots… Diana met Duncan in the lobby. He was dressed as he'd been earlier… jeans, sweater, long coat. His face was still solemn and filled with grief.

Diana flashed him a warm smile and squeezed his arm reassuringly. "I've been there Duncan. I understand. And I know words are useless. If you need anything… anything at all… you can count on me."

Duncan smiled thinly as he nodded. "Just knowing that helps. Thanks Diana." He glanced up sharply and peered around.

"What is it?" Diana had felt nothing… but then she was much younger.

Duncan focused on a man signing in at the desk. "Do you know him?" he asked Diana quietly.

She peered at the man and flashed him a smile when he turned suddenly to see her looking at him. He nodded as he passed by and headed to the locker room. At the door… he glanced back at her… meeting her gaze… and then entered to change.

"Never saw him before," she said… her face slightly flushed.

"You might want to keep an eye on him," Duncan said with a grin.

"Why?" Diana glanced back at the locker room again.

"In case he has an accident."

"You mean he's? Then why don't I feel him?"

Duncan shrugged. "Not all of us do. It's different. Maybe you'll be able to sense him if I'm not around."

Diana nodded. "Guess I may spend even more time here than I do now," she laughed.

Duncan joined her in the laughter… and for a moment… he seemed genuinely tickled… then the sorrow returned. "Let me give you a rain-check on dinner. I've got to go home… but at least I saw you once more… warned you."

After walking out, he paused and then faced Diana once more. "You remember Connor?"

"Your teacher… your kinsman?"

Duncan nodded. "He came to see me last year. He was… different. Something had happened. A few months later I met him in New York. He vanished after that."

"Vanished? Do you think these mortals you spoke of did something to him as well?"

Duncan shook his head wearily as he grasped her elbow to escort her to her car. "I don't know."

Diana looked warily around. "How would I know them?"

He lifted her left hand to his lips and then turned it over to kiss her inside wrist. "They bear a strange tattoo here… a symbol… evidently an old one." He traced a shape lightly there and then blew on it.

Diana shivered as he blew on her wrist. Nodding she assured him, "I'll remember… and I'll be careful." She glanced back at the gym with a smile. "_And_… I'll keep an eye on our friend."

Duncan kissed her cheek. "Stay safe Diana Hamilton… stay safe."

Diana flashed him a smile as she started the ignition. "I will… Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod." In her rear view mirror, she saw him lift a hand in a farewell wave as she drove away. Somehow, Diana felt that she would never see him again.

-----

In the shadows across the street, a blonde-haired man in a trench coat smiled grimly. Pulling out his mobile phone he punched in a number. "Mr. St. Cloud… I believe I have acquired a target for you… a most interesting target. No… not MacLeod… not yet. I want him to suffer for a while. One by one we will eliminate those he cares for… until he is utterly alone… and then… Mr. St. Cloud… we shall both have our revenge."

-----


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

His name, it turned out, was Garrett Sunderson. He was new in town and the newly hired sports anchor for_ News at Eleven_ on **_Channel 5_**. Diana couldn't tell anything about him as far as his latent immortality went, but if Duncan had said it was possible; she was willing to believe it… and to keep an eye on him. She smiled… he was a fine looking man… one she'd normally have no qualms about getting to know. They'd sparred a bit in the practice room one evening and then had shared a drink at the juice bar. He was thirty-four, adopted, divorced, and eager to make a new life for himself in a new city.

"Why the divorce?" Diana asked curiously. "If you don't mind my asking." She shrugged. "A girl has to be careful."

Garrett had chuckled. "My wife came from this really huge family. She wanted kids in the worst way. Four years into our marriage and nothing… not even a false alarm or a late period. It wasn't her. The doctors checked her pretty thoroughly. That left me." He shrugged. "So… long story short… we divorced."

"She divorced you because she couldn't have children with you?" Diana was aghast that anyone was that shallow.

"Yeah… so here I am," Garrett said thoughtfully and then shrugged. "Hey… maybe it just means I'm God's gift to women. I don't have to be careful any more." He winked and she smirked and slapped his arm, noting the firmness of the muscles.

_No_, she thought wistfully, _children are something you'll never have to worry about_. Aloud she laughed and rolled her eyes, but she let him have her business card. She'd keep an eye on him… she'd told Duncan she would… but she wasn't really interested in him otherwise.

As Diana left **_Silvio's_** that night… she had a moment when she thought that she was being followed. She sped up until she reached her car, unlocked it, tossed her bag into the back seat even as she pulled her short sword free from its sheath and stood waiting at the opened car door.

A piece of paper blew in the wind across the parking lot. In the distance she heard two young male voices teasing one another and the occasional blare of a car alarm… followed by laughter and running footsteps. Sensing no other immortal… Diana gradually relaxed as she returned the sword to its sheath and shut the rear door. She climbed into the front, auto-locked the doors and started the ignition. There was no immortal here… but after what Duncan had told her… she was not about to take chances.

Once her **_Camry_** started, she shifted into gear and drove off.

In the hustle and bustle of the next few days… and the launching of her client's new product… Diana forgot about Duncan's warning and her uneasy feeling about being watched. She shouldn't have.

-----

Molly Templeton wanted to be Diana Hamilton in the worst way. She watched her boss glide through sales meetings and conferences with a cool aplomb that made her seem far older and more experienced than someone of about thirty. Sometimes Molly thought Diana had been doing her job for centuries… and then she'd laugh to herself at the absurdity of that remark. Molly had recently styled her hair and dyed it to match Diana's flowing auburn locks, but no one had really noticed it or commented on it. Molly was an unimportant stenographer with the company, not even a sales associate. She'd never even actually met Ms. Hamilton face-to-face. She remained anonymous within the steno pool.

She had no family in San Francisco… having run away from an abusive stepfather at age fifteen. She'd managed to get off the streets and into some job training due to a caring social worker… but had refused all attempts to re-establish contact with her step-father. "He hated me for being a millstone about his neck when my mom died," Molly had tried to explain. "He'd hate for me to remind him of that fact." So she'd dug in her heels and remained alone… except for a stray cat… who'd adopted her more or less.

She'd stayed late at work to finish up her transcriptions, always determined to be efficient no matter what… and to grab the eye of a supervisor… and was crossing the parking deck on her way to the bus stop when she heard something that sounded like swords in the darkness. Molly paused and, curious, closed in for a better look. _Who would be using swords in this day and age?_

From behind one of the pillars, she could see two figures and they were indeed fighting with swords. Moreover, it didn't look like the movies. These two men lunged at one another in desperation; apparently out for blood… and giving no quarter.

Molly watched open-mouthed in fascination as one man sliced the mid-section of the other and then danced away. The injured man held a hand to his wound and then growled as he leapt back to his feet and bore down upon his assailant with several two-handed hacks.

The first man, easily defended against the assault, and managed to grab the other man… pull him in and then shove him away… slicing once more… this time he drew blood from an arm. The other man stumbled about several steps holding his wounded arm… seemed to dig within himself… and came out swinging once more. But this attack was less intense than the previous one. Molly couldn't see how he was even still on his feet.

She wanted to cry out… but sensed that doing so would only result in her own death. Surely these two maniacs would stop! But they didn't. The wounded one's actions became slower and slower. Finally the other man stood over him and sliced off his head!

Molly gasped and scrambled backward… aware that she was splashing in water or oil or something. The winner looked up… his eyes narrowed as he saw her… and then all hell broke loose. Lightning seemed to come from everywhere as cars began to explode and alarms went off all about her. Molly Templeton thought she was in a nightmare. She covered her ears at the loud booming crashes and when silence returned, she ran. The flickering fires of burning cars became fewer… and fewer. She reached the street level and raced into traffic.

A car braked to a stop right before her and a woman got out. "What's happened?"

"M-m-m-en… w-w-w-ith... s-s-s-swor-ds," Molly finally managed to mutter between chattering teeth.

The woman looked around sharply. "Get in!" she barked.

Molly climbed in… still shuddering… her teeth still chattering. The driver hit the gas and tore off. "There's a blanket in the back. Cover up!" she ordered.

Molly reached into the back and pulled the blanket forward… she cuddled beneath it… but still she shook. Vaguely she was aware that someone was talking to her.

"Your name?" the driver prodded. "Tell me your name!"

"Molly Templeton."

"Well… Molly Templeton… I want you to open the glove compartment now. You'll find a flask. Take a little sip of bourbon and then begin to breathe slowly."

Molly opened the compartment and shakingly took out the flask. Upon opening it, she took a sip. Then she glanced at the no-nonsense driver_. Oh great!_ she thought as she rolled her eyes_. I finally meet my idol and she likely thinks I'm a nut case._ Aloud she murmured, "Ms. Hamilton."

Diana glanced over at her with a smile. "Do we know one another?"

Molly shook her head as she bit her lip. "Not really. I work in the steno pool."

Diana pulled to a stop at a red light and watched the traffic go by. Finally, she turned right on red when there was an opening. "Just sit back now, Molly. I'm going to take you home. Where do you live?"

"Shouldn't we call the police?"

Diana said nothing.

Once again Molly realized how wild and insane her story sounded. "You don't believe me," she finally said.

"I didn't say that."

"But you don't. No one ever believes me."

"Molly… I need an address…" she laughed lightly. "Or would you prefer I just drive around the block again."

Molly realized that they were coming up again on the parking structure. Until now, she' hadn't been aware of what Diana was doing. Sudden fear gripped Molly. She didn't want to be near the parking deck. If that man had seen her… he'd kill her! In halting tones, she gave Diana an address.

"That wasn't so hard now… was it?" She turned left at the next light and started toward the bay.

Molly took another sip of the bourbon… letting its smoky flavor seep into her. Her step-dad had smelled of bourbon. She'd hated him for living when her mom died. She'd hated him for the smell of it… and for the way he'd forced himself on her again and again. She'd thought about pounding his brains out one night when he was too drunk to be aware of it. But as with most things… she'd chickened out and kept her mouth shut until she'd finally run away. She'd known he wouldn't come after her… she'd just known.

But the bourbon was like liquid fire… warming her inside in a place she'd never thought would be warm again. The blanket was doing its job… cocooning her in blissful warmth. The steady click of the windshield wipers as a light rain began helped her relax. Molly sighed and crunched down in the seat as she closed her eyes. "It's not far," she said with a yawn. "Not far at all."

Diana nodded silently as she continued to drive. Her mind was a-whirl as to who had been at the parking deck. Had one of them been looking for her and then been surprised by another? If so… who'd won? Was she still in danger? She sped up when she noticed a black panel van exit the parking garage, following closely on her tail. Glancing sharply at Molly hunched down in the blanket, Diana sped up and turned quickly to the right to head onto the Golden Gate Bridge. The van followed.

She got no sense of an immortal behind her… but someone obviously was following her. As they hit the bridge… the van bumped her several times on the bumper. Diana began to weave back and forth as she sped faster and faster across the bridge. The van sped up to beside her and Diana could see a man with a gun pointed in her direction. The red light of the laser sight moved over her chest.

_What is going on?_ she thought. _What's happening?_ Aloud she ordered Molly to get down and stay out of sight.

She swerved to the right even as she felt something hot and hard slam into her head. "Oh crap!" she mumbled. In desperation… she slammed her foot onto the gas, breaking through a low barrier that skimmed the roof from her **_Camry_**. As something hit her on the head, she saw stars and felt nauseous. The momentum continued as she instinctively pressed harder so that the car slammed into the side and flipped into the air against the side of the bridge… and then fell… fell… fell… into an inky blackness. Even as she began to lose consciousness she felt cold water splash on her. She fumbled for the seatbelt… relieved that it let go and then floated away on a dark dream.

-----

She opened her eyes on a dim yet unfamiliar room. Not far away she could hear the tide breaking on the beach. She licked her lips and tried to sit up.

"Easy now," said a familiar male voice. "Lie back."

She did so and felt the cold cloth he placed on her forehead. She closed her eyes and licked her lips. "That feels good."

He laughed. "Glad to hear it. Ya know… since I took this job… women have done all sorts of things to meet me and get into my bed… but you take the cake."

She opened her eyes. "What did I do?"

"Go for a swim and wash up on my private beach," he laughed. Then he sobered. "You don't remember? Maybe I ought to call someone."

She reached out with a grimace, some interior voice yelling not to let him call for help. "No… really… I'm fine. I just need to rest a bit."

He leaned over her with a smile. "Fine by me. But I when I tell the guys I had a beautiful woman in my bed and didn't make a move on her… they won't believe me."

She turned her head and moaned. That… evidently was a mistake as the room spun. "Please… just let me sleep a bit."

He laughed. "I don't get it. Other than being asleep or unconscious on my beach… there wasn't a mark on you. You're fine."

"Fine," she mumbled as she dropped off to sleep. Maybe when she woke up… it would make sense.

-----

Diana threw back the duvet and swung her legs out of the bed. Her head still hurt… but it was a dull throb compared to what it had been earlier. It had been decades since she'd had a headache. She rose to find some aspirin in the small bathroom attached to the bedroom.

When she rose… she noticed she was nude. Glancing around the sparsely decorated bedroom, she realized that she had no idea where she was… or how she got here. She slipped into the small bath and opened the medicine cabinet, noting the man's razor, shaving cream, and after-shave were prominently displayed. Black towels hung haphazardly on the rods. Swiftly she downed a couple of aspirin and sipped water from the faucet.

Wiping her mouth off, Diana noted the be-draggled snarls of her auburn hair. She wanted a shower and to wash it… but that would have to wait until she learned where she was. Behind the door was a navy blue velour robe. On a man, it would hit mid-calf. On her… it hit a bit longer. She tied it tightly about her waist and folded up the sleeves. Taking a deep breath, she resolutely opened the door and strode with a confidence she didn't have into the main room.

The tall, good-lucking man with the phone pressed to one ear paced about the main room, again only the basics… if one counted the weight bench. He glanced up at her entrance, smiled and gave her a wave. He pointed to the phone and mouthed, "I'll be right off."

Diana relaxed slightly. She couldn't recall how she'd gotten here. She couldn't even recall having a date with Garrett Sunderson… but how else to explain her awakening here. Had he given her something? He didn't seem to be the type to use a date rape drug… and she had no idea how it would have affected her even he had. It was best to wait this out. Why couldn't she remember?

Garrett finally shut off his phone and rolled his eyes with a laugh. "Remind me again why I love this job?"

Diana shrugged. "You like being the center of attention?" She crossed her arms, rubbing them thoughtfully. She laughed. She waited. Finally she asked. "Clothes? I did have clothes on when I came… didn't I?"

He stared at her with a smile… and then realization dawned on him. "Oh… right… your clothes. Listen… they were soaked. What were you thinking going swimming fully dressed? Don't answer that!" He turned and led the way to his laundry closet. "I tossed them in with my stuff."

Even from here… Diana could feel the heat of the dryer. She had a feeling her clothes… whatever she'd been wearing… were likely ruined. Her worst fears were confirmed when he pulled out the unmercifully wrinkled rayon pantsuit and silk blouse. She held them up to her chest. "I guess I might need to borrow something?"

"Uh… right. Sorry about that." Garrett ran a hand over his sandy hair with a rueful look. "My stuff is all cotton… You know… It's the fabric of our lives… anyway… I always use high heat."

Diana grunted without commitment. "Is there anything I can put on?"

"Oh… yeah," Garrett said with a grin and pulled out some gray sweats. "Would these do?"

Diana accepted the hot cotton and held the pieces up before her. "They'll do, I guess." She turned to return to the bedroom and dress.

"I didn't take advantage of you… I just thought you'd sleep better if you weren't in wet things," he called after. She closed the door and leaned against it.

What had she learned? She'd been in the water… unconscious? Dead? Garrett had found her. Diana removed the robe… letting it fall about her feet. She opened the drawers to his bureau and found a pair of boxers, which she pulled on, and then a T-shirt and socks. After that she pulled on the still warm sweats. She ran a hand through her matted hair. She'd get a shower when she got home. Maybe there… the events of last evening would clarify. She must have had a head injury of some sort. That was the only explanation. But if she'd had a head injury… why? Was someone after her? Had she escaped by going into the water? She seemed to recall driving… urgently driving… flashing lights… cold saltwater.

Again her head throbbed and her stomach lurched in sympathy. She sat for a few moments, and then found a pair of sandals to strap to her feet. They were over-large… but the best she could do in the circumstances. Fully dressed she returned to the main room with a pleasant smile.

Garrett was staring at the television. He looked at her strangely and then pointed to the screen. "You're dead, Di."

Diana saw her picture plastered on the screen while a voice intoned the briefest highlights of her current life. Then the picture shifted to her ripped open and crumpled car being pulled from the bay. Another shot showed the body-bag and the words "decapitated body… the head still being sought…" filtered through her numbness as she closed in on the set until she was inches away. "Molly," she whispered as the events of the last evening came back to her.

Her knees buckled and strong hands caught her, lifted her into arms and carried her once more to the bed. "Easy now," he said. "I've got you. When you feel better… we'll call the authorities."

Diana curled onto her side, facing away from him as he sat beside her on the bed and gently rubbed her back. "When I feel better," she mumbled. She reached behind her to clasp his hand. "Don't leave me," she pleaded.

Garrett stretched out on the bed behind her and held onto her. Diana nodded. She needed to keep him from contacting anyone while she figured out exactly who had been after her and why… and… would they think she was dead?

-----

Duncan MacLeod was drying off his face as he emerged from the small bathroom attached to his new living quarters… a loft above the _dojo_ he'd bought a few months ago… just a side business where he could go to work out, he'd thought… when Tessa was still alive. There really wasn't room for a full-on workout in the antique store… not with her studio and the inventory taking up the main floor… not with Richie living in the spare room upstairs in their living quarters. And he'd known he needed to work out more. Now… with Tessa dead and Richie immortal and on his own… he'd given the young man the proceeds from selling the shop to set himself up… the _dojo_ and this loft were home.

He clicked on the twenty-four hour news channel and was humming to himself as he looked through the stainless steel commercial refrigerator he'd bought when he heard something about a headless body. Pausing… he stared at the set, but the commentator had already moved on to another story. Still… like any immortal… the words headless corpse always got his attention. Had one of them died? If so… who?

He pulled out eggs, cracked them open and began whisking them in a bowl while he focused on the next few stories. Eventually, the story was repeated. By this time, he was standing in front of the set… eating his omelet… a fork of eggs halfway to his mouth when he caught the details and heard the current identity of his student Diana Hamilton mentioned. Evidently she'd lost control of her car… crashed through a barrier, which had sliced off the top of her car… and likely her head… before the remnants had plunged into San Francisco Bay. He listened intently for any reports of a freak lightning storm… but heard nothing.

Pulling out his laptop… he began to research the story and other events of the past day in the city by the bay. An hour later he shut the machine down and leaned back thoughtfully. She was dead… but it appeared to have been an accident. There had been a freak lightning storm at the parking garage near her business. Had she been there? Had she seen something? Had that led to her death? But if the two were connected… why hadn't her quickening been released? Duncan shuddered at the memory of Darius lying headless in his church. "Hunters," he snarled. It had to be.

He pulled out his wallet and looked through it for the card on which Dawson had written a number… "Just in case you want to talk to me sometime," the man had said. Duncan had kept it… but hadn't called. Now he needed to.

"Dawson?" he barked into the phone. "We need to talk."

-----

Griffin Park by the shore was a testament to land use reclamation. Once it had been the site of mile after mile of tenements, several fish processing plants, and warehouses, which had housed the wonders of the Orient. A fire in the 1950's had leveled the area. Duncan had actually seen the fire on one of his periodic trips to the northwestern city. He'd stood on the hills above and watched the wall of flame consume the livelihood and homes of hundreds of people. The land had sat undeveloped until 1961 when a benevolent but anonymous philanthropist had bought the land and built the park… giving it to the city as a memorial of those whose lives had been lost in the fire.

Standing now on the soft rise of dunes… amongst the naturalized areas of wild grasses, Duncan tried to find a sense of hope in his despair… a hope that despite it all… there was a future for immortals. But all he felt was the loss of another student.

He heard the soft whisper of Dawson's cane on the nearby pebbled path. Duncan nodded did not turn. Dawson likewise faced the bay from where he stood on the path… as if he'd merely stopped to view the white-capped waves and the seagulls soaring over them.

"You rang?" Dawson said with that easy manner he seemed to have.

"Are you certain you people found all of Horton's people in your organization?"

"Yeah… well… maybe. Hell MacLeod… we can't be one hundred per cent certain. But we're doing the best we can."

"Tell me what you know about Diana Hamilton."

Dawson shifted uncomfortably. "You heard about her then."

"Tell me!" Duncan thundered. Through his mind the names of friends lost this past year drifted… Lucas Desiree… Gabriel Piton… Darius… Michael Moore, Tessa… Tessa… Tessa! And now Diana. Friends, mentors, lovers… and students. How many more would die while he remained. Would Richie suffer the same fate?

Dawson stared out at the bay. "Her Watcher reported she left work. There was a battle between immortals in the parking deck. Other reports indicate it was Johan Grűber and an unidentified immortal. Grűber lost. Grűber's Watcher didn't get a look at the attacker. Hamilton tore out of the parking deck a few moments later. Her Watcher was trying to catch up with her when Hamilton's car plunged off the Golden Gate Bridge. There was no quickening, MacLeod. It wasn't until the body was brought up that any of our people thought she was dead. Death by mischance. No immortal involved. I'm sorry."

_Death by mischance?_ Duncan thought. He shook his head. "She was too careful," he insisted.

"Yeah… she was. But the facts say something spooked her. My people have been going over her file trying to find any connection between her and Grűber. So far no luck. We thought maybe whoever killed Grűber knew her as well… that it was someone she was frightened of."

"Diana wasn't frightened of anyone," Duncan said sadly. "That was part of the problem. She had no illusions about being the one… or even one of the few. But she didn't run from death. This doesn't sound like her. Something else happened."

"You think Horton's people?" Dawson sputtered.

"I do. I'd warned her about them… and you."

"Hell MacLeod. You can't go around telling your friends about us!"

"Why not?"

"Because it upsets the system! If immortals know about us… they'll confront their Watchers… maybe kill them."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"We are historians, MacLeod. Don't judge all of us by the actions of a few!"

Duncan turned to glare evenly into Dawson's eyes. "Prove to me that none of Horton's people were involved in this."

"They don't have access to the records. Diana's Watcher is grief-stricken. She's certainly not involved with any attack on immortals."

Duncan turned, gritting his teach and scowling. "I want to talk to her."

"Absolutely not! Do you have any idea what might happen if word got out that I talked to you!" Dawson replied; his voice tinged with fear.

Duncan smiled grimly. "Is that fear I hear in your voice, Dawson? Are you risking your life to talk to me?"

"Yeah MacLeod… I am."

"Then your people aren't just historians."

"But we are. But we do have rules. I've broken about a dozen of them since you found me. But it's the right thing to do."

"Break some more."

Dawson's mouth worked up and down as he sought an answer.

Duncan whispered two words… a name… and Dawson paled and nodded before Duncan walked away.

Pallin Wolf… the renegade Watcher who had kidnapped Tessa… who'd been run out of the Watchers and on his own. Dead now… but the meaning was clear. There could be more like Pallin Wolf… still Watching, still hunting Immortals. Dawson would have to break another rule. He'd have to arrange for Greta Conklin to talk to Duncan MacLeod… or at least… to have a talk with her himself.

-----


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three 

It was dark by the time Diana rolled over and faced Garrett. "Do you have to go to work?" she asked with a smile.

"Yeah. Just my luck… I take a late stroll on the beach last night after work and find you… only you're too strung out to respond to me. I shoulda called the paramedics… but dang… you seemed fine. I made the choice to just keep an eye on you."

Diana laughed as she settled into his embrace. She'd had time to think. She couldn't return to her life. Both the authorities… and whoever had been after her would think she was dead. It was best to vanish. But Garrett was a loose end. What to do about him?

If these Watchers… if that's what they were… were aware of her loose association with him… they'd likely get the story out of him… even if he promised to say nothing. And then there was what Duncan had warned her of… that he was a potential immortal. If the people after her were working for another immortal… they might find him… and kill him before his time.

He really was a nice man. But she didn't know him… not really… and the situation was awkward. How much should she tell him?

"I wasn't alone in the car," she finally said.

He laughed. "Well I gathered that."

"I picked her up outside the parking deck. She'd seen something… a murder she thought."

"Yeah?"

"Someone in a van pursued us… ran me off the road."

"So… are we talking a second murder?"

Diana nodded.

"And the cops?"

"Not in the picture. I need to remain dead. If they think I'm dead… no one will be looking for me."

"So… you want to hang out here?" He arched his eyebrows and pulled her tighter into an embrace.

Diana pushed him away slightly. "Don't get me wrong… I like you Garrett… but being personally involved right now might not be healthy for either of us."

"Because someone is trying to kill you," he said strangely.

Diana froze. She nodded.

Garrett looked off into the gathering darkness of evening. "I'm gonna have to go to work."

"Promise me you won't tell anyone… anything."

He looked at her directly. "If you promise to be here when I return. I want the full story. I know I come off like an obnoxious sports jock sometimes… it's all part of my on-the-air persona. But beneath this devil-may-care attitude… beats the heart of a reporter… a real one."

"And you think the story of the century has just landed in your…" Diana laughed, "… your bed," she finished up.

Garrett nodded. "Something like that. So… be here and I won't call the police when I get home and tell them about you."

Diana stretched slightly. "Bring me a Whopper… extra tomatoes, extra catsup, onion rings, a chocolate shake… and you got a deal." She winked, wondering if she could manage to erase all evidence that she was here… or had ever been here.

"Deal," said Garrett and kissed the tip of her nose before rising. "I gotta shower," he said with a shrug.

"I'll be here," waved Diana and scrunched down onto the bed. She had plans to make.

-----

She was still lounging about when Garrett left. As soon as he'd done so… Diana raced into the shower. Swiftly she lathered up and washed away the feel of salt water and sand that seemed to be everywhere. Then she searched through his drawers again for anything better than the sweats. She selected a pair of jeans and a white dress shirt. Shoes… however were still a problem. Hunting through the laundry room… she found her low-heeled business pumps and slipped them on. Then she began to gather all evidence that she'd been here… and wiping down anything she might have touched.

At eleven p.m. the video machine clicked on. Diana turned the television on. Garrett was taping his news program. She laughed… evidently he liked to critique himself. She rolled her eyes and finished wiping things down. With her ruined things in a trash bag… she gave one last look around the place… and left… making certain to turn the television off… and lock the door behind her.

She crouched down as she regarded the widely spaced streetlights that illuminated small circles of beach path. She nodded. She could avoid the lights. She smoothed her steps out as she walked backwards from the house down to the beach. Once she was near the water line… she turned and raced up the beach to another path and from there… up to the street. She prayed that she hadn't been seen by some homeowner… staring through darkened windows.

Once she hit the highway… she started south… back toward the city. She had to retrieve a backup weapon, find out who was tracking her, and keep an eye on Garrett Sunderson. She'd call him later and try to explain how important it was that he stay out of it. The last thing she wanted was another person's death on her conscience.

-----

"Your men nearly cost me my head," Xavier St. Cloud spat bitterly.

"My men were on task. They were ready for Ms. Hamilton and they did manage to shoot her."

"But they didn't get Grűber!"

"Mr. Grűber was not their target, " Horton snapped back. "He was an intruder on the scene."

"Now she's dead and her quickening is lost!"

"I wonder," Horton mused as he turned of the news. "While the body is undoubtedly hers… until the head is found… there is always room for doubt."

"You think she somehow switched her body with someone else's?" St. Cloud replied thoughtfully.

"It's possible. Unlikely… given her profile… but possible. At least part of the plan is intact." Horton smirked and tapped the ends of his fingers together prayerfully. "MacLeod has undoubtedly heard of the accident. It might even bring him back to San Francisco."

"Where I can kill him?"

"Don't be impatient my good friend. MacLeod's destruction is what we're after. Ms. Hamilton is one of only two of his students who remains alive. Her death on top of the others will shatter him. Although… " Horton chuckled, "My contacts inside of the organization suggest that the young man who lived with him last year may be immortal. If so… we can certainly find out."

"If he's new… he should be easy to kill."

"What if we could turn him to our side?"

"You really think he'd turn on MacLeod? Especially now?"

"Perhaps. At any rate… let's be certain that Ms. Hamilton won't pop back up. I'll have my people go over her business and her home as soon as the police look elsewhere."

"What will they find that the police miss?"

"Whatever the police don't know to look for. We need to interview people who knew her. She may have taken someone into her confidence."

"All this for a woman who is likely dead?"

"I want to be absolutely certain of this before we move on."

All I want is MacLeod's head," replied the immortal.

"All in good time, my friend… all in good time."

-----

The pawnshop opened at ten. Diana had stopped by the bus station, retrieved the key she had hidden there, unlocked the locker and retrieved the bag with spare clothes, shoes, a wig, money, new ID and the pawn ticket. She hadn't been able to leave the sword in the bus terminal… the locker was too small. But the pawnshop… along with an extra tip to the owner to hold it for her, no matter what, had been the answer.

She knew him only as Otto. He didn't know her at all. When he unlocked and pushed the grating up… she waited for the count of ten before crossing the street and entering. The sensor over the door beeped as she entered.

Otto was just settling down to his morning paper. He pushed his glasses onto his forehead and peered at her curiously over the paper's top edge. She could see a headline about the accident investigation… **_Bizarre Beheading_**. Otto was likely sixty, overweight… at least four hundred pounds, and nearly bald. He had a thin fringe of white hair around the base of his scalp and he smelled faintly of peppermint.

"Help you?" he said obviously apprising her and trying to recall if she were a return customer. Behind her sunglasses and beneath the dark brown wig, she rather doubted she looked familiar. She strode forward confidently and laid the pawn ticket on the counter. "I'm here for something I left," she said. She nervously tapped a finger on the glass case. Realizing what she was doing, she made a soft fist and smiled.

Otto picked up the ticket… looked at it… looked at her and then rose from his stool to check the items in the back room… the ones not for public display or sale. He returned with a long tube and laid it on the counter. "Is this it?" he asked.

Diana nodded. She noted the seals on the tube were still intact. Nothing had been disturbed. She had no illusions that Otto had tried to find out what was in the container… but at least it appeared that everything was as it should be. She lifted the tube and felt its weight. It felt fine. She nodded to thank him, then pivoted to leave.

"Why don't I remember you?" he asked.

Diana shrugged. It was best if he didn't. She glanced up at the security camera and then shrugged again. Otto nodded briefly, a slight smile on his lips.

Once out of the store, Diana ducked into the alley to tear open the container. Inside, wrapped in silk was a _wakizashi _that she'd acquired some years ago at an estate sale. Duncan had preferred the elegance of Japanese weapons and had taught her to use them, saying the smaller sword was better for her. Diana usually carried a stout basket-hilt rapier, however. She liked the weight of it better. But she could make adjustments for this. The main thing now was to be adequately armed. She slipped the _wakizashi_ into the sheath she'd prepared in the lining of the light coat and adjusted it… hoping its weight and distinctive shape would remain hidden for the present.

She'd called Garrett last night from a payphone and promised to meet him today… "I couldn't wait, Garret… What if you'd brought the police."

"I said I wouldn't. And your Whopper's gonna get cold."

"Yeah… they usually do. Listen… I will explain. Meet me tomorrow for lunch."

Garrett had laughed. "All right… but this time… you buy."

"Deal," she'd replied. She needed to talk to him… carefully… in a place she could check out ahead of time. She needed to warn him that his life could be in danger. And she needed to plead with him to let her stay dead. How much more she had to tell him would depend on how much he already knew.

Crossing town to the Asian place she'd picked out, she checked the area for surveillance and anything odd, or any movement out of the ordinary. Seeing nothing, she settled down nearby to wait for Garrett. Once he'd entered and had a seat… then she'd put in an appearance. She'd warned him to come alone. She hoped he'd do so.

He did.

Garrett looked a bit endearing and out of place as he lounged his six foot four inch frame into one of the delicate Asian chairs… folding his legs beneath the table-clothed table and staring curiously at the menu. He wore a fedora and sunglasses.

Diana laughed when she saw him. What did he think he was? A secret agent?

She removed her sunglasses as she entered, bowed slightly at the waitress and indicated that she was joining someone as she moved silkily toward him. At first he looked right past her… obviously looking for a redhead… and then he did a double-take as he she sat across from him.

"Close your mouth."

"What?"

"Your mouth. And lose the hat and sunglasses. Totally inappropriate in a dark restaurant! They'll garner attention."

"Oh!" he said with a shrug. "Sorry. My first time with cloak and dagger." He took his hat off, running his fingers through his razor-cut sandy hair and sheepishly removed his sunglasses.

Diana smiled. "Interesting you should put it that way," she said thinking of her coat and its hidden blade. She expertly let the coat slide from her shoulders after she'd sat, and kept the coattail with the hidden _wakizashi_ against one leg. She'd spent hours practicing such moves so that they looked utterly normal… and the coat seemed perfectly normal.

"So," Garrett said leaning forward on the table. "What's the story?"

Diana sighed as she sipped her water. "What do you think is going on."

"Well first of all… you're dead Di. Your obituary is all over the papers. The scuttlebutt around the station was that you were drinking, speeding, lost control of your vehicle and thankfully killed only yourself."

"And the sports jock wants the real story so he can scoop the heavy hitters… the investigative reporters."

Garrett winked. "You got it."

"Now what do you know by my appearance on your beach?"

Garrett looked around as if worried someone might hear. "You were dead. I could have sworn it when I dragged you out of the water. You looked bad. I did CPR and you revived. I carried you to the house so I could call the EMT's… but by the time I saw you under the lights… the blood was just on you… there were no wounds, no bruises… and no broken bones. You were asleep."

"Then I woke up."

"Yeah… you woke up and seemed awful confused. I said something about the EMT's… and you said you were fine… that you just needed to sleep. And that's what you proceeded to do. Sleep."

"You were intrigued… so you waited… hoping for a story."

"Yeah… but then by morning… the story was already on the news," he said ruefully. "So… a passenger who's now dead and thought to be you… saw a murder. It was her they were after… so why do you need to remain dead?"

"Why not?" Diana said with a shrug. She sipped her water and then sat back as the waitress came over. Garrett ordered haltingly… not certain what she understood… Diana saw the girl wait and then write the number on her pad. She looked at Diana who ordered by number. The waitress smiled and bowed as she took the menus.

"Let me guess… not a word of English."

"Oh… I'd guess she knows a few words. They teach them the numbers first. It's easier for them."

"And if you want something substituted?"

Diana shrugged. "I usually don't."

Garrett shook his head. "You are a puzzle Di! Now about why you need to stay dead?"

"Because I don't want to end up dead doesn't do it for you?"

Garrett paused. "But you're willing to give up your business… your friends… your life? How? Why?"

"To keep them safe. Garrett… I shouldn't even have stayed around to explain to you. I'm putting your life in danger. If someone connects you to me for any reason other than a few conversations at a health club juice bar… you're a dead man. I'd prefer that didn't happen."

"Sounds like Witness Protection. Are you in hiding?"

"Something like that."

"No Shit?"

"Calm down," Diana ordered. "It's not exactly that… but let's just say that someone was likely after me last that night… found someone else… and the young lady I helped got caught in the middle. Now she's dead… and if I'm lucky… they'll think I am dead."

But she has a family… friends? Shouldn't they be notified?"

Diana had no answer for that. She hadn't had the chance to check on Molly Templeton's life, yet. She wasn't certain she wanted to. "I don't know," she whispered.

"Then I can do it." Garrett pulled out a pad. "What was her name?"

Diana was silent. She looked around the restaurant nervously. It was still early enough that the heavy lunch crowd had not hit, but there were enough here to keep the owners busy. She shifted and then smiled as a waiter brought their food. He smiled and bowed very efficiently after he'd set everything on the table and then left.

"Let me guess… he doesn't even know numbers yet?" Garrett smirked archly.

"Probably not." Diana ladled hot mustard onto her food and began eating… aware that she had not eaten in days. After some moments she glanced at Garrett. "What?"

He smiled. "At least you have an appetite. What about your friend."

Diana wiped her mouth. "I told you, she wasn't a friend, just someone I picked up because she needed help."

"So either way she was dead… right?" Garrett looked almost pleading in his question.

Diana nodded. "Probably."

"But her family should know."

"Maybe when they find her head… it'll get straightened out. By then… I'll be gone."

Garett stirred his food and looked at it with suspicion. "So tell me how it is you were all right."

"I'm a fast healer."

He glanced up at her with a smirk. "I'd say. I thought you were dead… then badly hurt… then just in bad shape… and then miracle of miracles… not a scratch."

Slurping in some _lo mein_ noodles, Diana shrugged. "You made a mistake. I wasn't that badly hurt."

"Like hell," he said with a directness that let her know evasions weren't going to work. She picked up her water and took a drink… glancing around the restaurant as she did so. Not the best place to tell him anything. "If I tell you… promise not to create a scene?" she said with shrug.

"Sure. No scene. Just the truth."

"I'm immortal. I can't die. Well… I can die… I just don't stay dead."

Garrett stared. Finally he sat back and tossed his napkin onto his nearly untouched plate of food. "Truth… huh?"

"Well you asked."

He leaned forward and whispered loudly, "Do you have any idea how crazy that sounds?"

Diana nodded. "As a matter of fact… yeah."

Garrett shook his head. "This isn't real. You're insane and I'm an accomplice to what exactly? Covering up the truth about a crime?"

"How about just helping a friend?"

"Are we friends?"

Diana nodded with a smile. "Yeah… I think we could be. Finish up."

"Why? Where are we going?"

"I think you require proof… so we're headed to church."

"Church?"

"Church."

"I didn't think you were the religious type," he chuckled.

"I'm not… but I think we need to be someplace safe before I show you that this really is the truth."

She said nothing else during the meal, and noticed that Garrett Sunderson looked very intrigued.

For a moment, Diana wondered how her teacher would have handled this. She didn't know… so all she could do was improvise and hope for the best.

-----


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four 

Leaving Richie to train under the careful eye of Charlie DeSalvo, the manager of the _dojo_ he'd bought in the wake of Tessa's death, Duncan made a swift return trip to San Francisco to investigate the death of Diana Hamilton… his last student.

Under a leaden gray sky that spoke of impending rain, he emerged from the small private airport terminal and made swift arrangements for a rental car. He'd chosen to fly privately for this flight so that there would be no security checks… and he could manage to keep his _katana_ with him. He'd learned, over the years, that this worked best for short trips.

On the flight, he'd sat in the small six-passenger cabin with three businessmen headed to a convention… holding his coat in his lap, making certain the sword's presence was carefully concealed… and that the coat appeared to drape naturally over his lap. The three were busy imbibing from the mini-bar cart and involved in a contest as to who could tell the most off-color joke. Duncan had closed his eyes and tuned them out as best he could.

His thoughts on most of the flight were of Diana as young immortal, promising student, and stalwart friend. She'd never had illusions about winning the game… just living the best life she could in the extended time she'd been given. As he settled into the rental car, his thoughts were still on her, and on the details of the accident that he'd managed to gather. While there was some indication that the recovered body had been drinking… Duncan had serious doubts. Having died her first death in a car wreck that had claimed the life of her husband… Diana was nearly fanatic in her belief that drinking and driving did not mix.

He worried that he was taking time from Richie and his need to train the boy for his life as an immortal to check out the death of his former student… but things just didn't add up… and he wanted to discover the truth. Once he'd done so… he could concentrate on Richie… give him the time he needed… before sending him out into the world. But first… he owed Diana enough time to get the facts of her death and to discover for himself if she'd died from an accident… an immortal… or a mortal.

Reaching the building that housed her advertising business, he parked and entered, stopping to tell the receptionist that he was an old friend of Ms. Hamilton's and ask if there was someone he could speak with about her death. The receptionist recalled him from his recent visit, and buzzed him up to see Marcy Carruthers… Diana's personal assistant.

"As you can see Mr. MacLeod," Marcy gestured widely after greeting her late boss's friend, "we are in a bit of an uproar. At least she had a will and had laid out a plan for the business in case of a sudden death… but it's still a shock."

"Have the funeral arrangements been made?" Duncan asked as he took in with a glance the hustle and bustle about the management offices.

"We're still waiting on the coroner to release the body. Evidently they are still hoping to locate the head. They haven't even really made a positive ID yet. As a result… we can't legally proceed with anything."

Duncan nodded and thanked Marcy for her time. He gave her his card and indicated he'd be interested in knowing the arrangements when they were made. He even offered to speak as an old friend. Upon leaving, he noticed a man getting his shoes shined look up from his paper and make momentary eye contact before ducking behind the pages of his newspaper once more.

Duncan paused, and then crossed the street to sit next to the man as he put his feet up for a shine. While waiting… he leaned closer to the man. "See anything interesting?"

The man, mid-thirties, thinning brown hair, glasses, glanced at him and then snapped his paper shut with a huff as he reached into his wallet for money and cut the shine short. Duncan grinned as the man stalked off. He'd caught sight of the tattoo on the man's wrist. He wondered if the man were one of Dawson's people… or one of the ousted members of Horton's circle. At least the madman was dead… Duncan had seen to that. He briefly recalled the satisfaction he'd felt running Horton through with his _katana_, although he still winced slightly at killing the man in front of his daughter. He truly had hated doing it in front of her. If only Horton had stopped… but he hadn't. Duncan shook off the memory. He needed to concentrate on the here and now… and on finding out how and even if… Diana had died.

Later, he slipped into the morgue's waiting area at police headquarters and waited for the attendant to take a lunch break so that he could get into the cold room itself and look at the body up close. He snatched the clipboard, which identified the current contents of the drawers and noted three "Jane Does". He started with those. The second drawer he opened was that of a headless corpse. Duncan returned the clipboard to where he'd found it and pulled back the sheet to examine the corpse.

The neck had a ragged tear consistent with the preliminary findings that the head had been torn off by blunt force trauma and not by a smooth cut… like a sword. Diana had a small mole on the back of her left shoulder… this body didn't. Further, when he examined the hands, he noted that there was no sign of long term ring wearing. Diana, he knew, and had recently seen for himself, still wore her wedding ring. The body had been fingerprinted… but Duncan knew that Diana had probably made certain not to be fingerprinted for anything. Still, any good detective could collect prints from her offices and apartment, and eliminate prints to make an ID. Likely the police were working on that.

He shut the drawer and found the file on "Jane Doe #2" stacked on the attendant's desk. He scanned through the toxicology reports. There had indeed been alcohol in her system, although not a large amount. Satisfied, Duncan left the morgue. He was certain now that Diana Hamilton was still alive. Yet, if she had staged this accident… why had she done so? Surely she wouldn't have murdered someone just to disappear. It wasn't her style. He doubted that he could get into her apartment… it was likely staked out… and it was Diana he wanted to find. If she'd left him a clue… it wouldn't be in her apartment. It would be someplace else… someplace that Duncan knew she frequented.

Duncan pulled up outside **_Silvio's Gym_**, and stepped out of the car. He removed his coat and carefully locked it in his trunk. He wanted to be able to go beneath the radar here. Grabbing the small gym bag he'd brought with him, he adjusted the lightweight jacket, slammed the trunk lid and sauntered in.

After purchasing a one-day pass, he changed in the locker room and began to work out, listening carefully to any conversation he could overhear about Diana and her accident.

-----

"I hate this part," Diana muttered once they'd reached the small mission style church a few blocks away.

Garrett regarded her skeptically as she found them an isolated corner of the church garden… a bench near the cinerarium. "Have you had to do this often?"

Diana smirked, "Actually… no. But I dislike pain… and it does hurt. Now promise me you won't call for help or otherwise garner attention."

Garrett nodded.

Diana pulled out a penknife, opened it, and offered it to Garrett. "Test it… see if it's sharp."

"How?"

Diana smiled. "Cut your finger… a small cut will be fine."

"Wait… I thought this was about you?"

"Well… you need to be certain I'm not pulling a fast one." Diana smiled with a wink. "Go on… it won't hurt… much."

Garrett hesitantly held the penknife over the tip of his little finger, sliced and grimaced. "Ow!" He tossed her the knife as he sucked his finger and pulled out a handkerchief to stem the blood flow. "That hurt!"

"Trust me…" Diana smirked, "you'll live."

Once he'd calmed down, she held the knife over her left palm and winced as she dragged it through her flesh. Tears sparkled in her eyes, which she blinked away while managing not to cry out. Garrett grabbed her hand, pressing the handkerchief to the wound.

"Jesus, Di! I thought you were going to do what I did."

"Remove the handkerchief, Garrett."

"You're bleeding."

"Not any more." Diana still felt the after-effects of the pain… but she also knew that he had to see this… and see it now… when it was impossible to believe. She recalled Duncan showing her this after he'd killed Kelso and explained to her what he was… what she was.

Garrett gingerly lifted the handkerchief… stared… wiped at her palm… and stared again. Finally he met her gaze, the astonishment clear in his eyes. "There's no wound."

"Not any more," she replied, letting him hold her hand. Right now, human contact felt very comforting. Garrett turned her hand over and kept feeling both sides as if somehow the cut would reappear. Finally Diana said with a small laugh, "Please don't ask me to do it again. As I said… it still hurts. I'm not Superman. I heal quickly… but I still feel the pain of every wound."

Garrett dropped her hand, rose from the bench and paced, shaking his head. Suddenly he stopped and looked at her strangely. "Wait a minute. You said someone was trying to kill you. If you heal… how is that possible? I thought you said you were immortal… that would mean you can't die."

Diana shook her head. "I can't tell you that… not now. Just understand that there is a way… and others like me… who heal like this know it." She hesitated to tell him the rest of it… about the game… how old she really was. This was enough, she felt, for him to take in at one time.

Garrett paced some more. Finally he threw up a hand. "Look… I gotta think about this. Call me later… okay?"

Diana nodded and remained in the garden while she watched him leave. He needed time… hell… she'd needed time when confronted with this. She'd had the advantage of having just watched a challenge… but it had still been a shock. What worried her was that if Duncan were right… this man would have another shock coming to him one day. She still couldn't tell if there was something about him, that other immortals… older immortals… could sense. Duncan had once told her he'd almost always been able to tell, but she had no way of knowing for certain except for Duncan's suggestion that she watch Garrett.

She needed to get out of this town while the word was still out that she was dead. She should never have involved Garrett… never have put his life in danger. Waves of guilt flowed over her until she realized she was sitting in a cold rain. The storm that had hung over the city all day had finally broken. Diana pulled the hood up of her all-weather coat and moved slowly to the covered walkway of the cinerarium. She'd have to talk to him once more… just to be certain that he was all right with this… and then she was out of this town.

-----

"MacLeod's in town," Horton said as he got off the phone. "One of my people saw him at the Hamilton woman's office."

"Then we can kill him here and now," the immortal replied smoothly.

Horton smirked and shook his head. He'd watched St. Cloud work out against some mortal swordsmen… and while he defeated them… he still had problems. His prosthetic hook weighed more than his missing hand and it threw him off-balance. He still hadn't learned to compensate for it yet. If he went against MacLeod now… all would be lost. Horton wasn't certain he could find another immortal who hated MacLeod as much… but he had some ideas. St. Cloud had the advantage of being… controllable. Some of the others he was trying to contact…weren't.

"Patience St. Cloud. If the Hamilton woman is still alive… MacLeod will find her. How fitting then, to kill her just as they part and he thinks she's safe. Besides… he can get information that we can't. If we do this right… we'll destroy him beyond all possibility."

"What about his new student? What about turning him against MacLeod?"

"The Highlander is intently moralistic. For him… everything is black and white. All we have to do is to put young Ryan in a situation where he and MacLeod will disagree. They part on the worst of terms… and then… we will make the most of the situation."

"You really are a very sick man, Mr. Horton."

Horton laughed and clapped his hands together, rubbing them in delight. He dropped them when he noticed St. Cloud staring at them with a sense of loathing and hatred. "Apologies, Mr. St. Cloud. I did not mean to make light of _your _situation. No insult intended."

"None taken," St. Cloud said, biting off his words as they were uttered, but it was clearly evident that he did take offense. The loss of his hand was still a painful one and that worried Horton. True it made St. Cloud more than willing to work with him… but Horton worried that the Moor was slightly unbalanced mentally, and more than a little anxious to pay MacLeod back.

"MacLeod will be on the hunt right now… and prepared for a challenge. We need to wait… and mow him down when he's isolated and alone."

"He's alone _here_!" snapped St. Cloud.

"But he's not yet despondent. He's hopeful… he's curious. No… we'll let him discover if the elusive Ms. Hamilton is alive and then strike at the moment he feels relief." Horton steepled his fingers deliberately before him and leaned back in his executive chair. "I don't want to just kill him. As I told you… I want to destroy him"

-----

Garrett slammed his locker door shut, grabbed a towel and his racquet and headed for the racquetball court. His regular partner wasn't here today… but it didn't matter… he'd allow anyone on the waiting list to play. Right now, he felt the need to hit something… numerous times… and racquetball seemed to be the safest activity.

As he waited his turn just outside the court, watching the two men below through the heavy acrylic window, he noted the dark-haired man approaching through the hallway. He was broad-shouldered… and Garrett couldn't recall seeing him at the club before.

"I noted you had an opening. Do you mind if I join you?" the man said pleasantly. Then he smiled and held out his hand. "I'm Duncan MacLeod."

"Garrett Sunderson," Garrett replied returning the gesture and noting the firm grip. This man was strong… very strong. His muscles rippled on his arms and he moved like a man who had been in the army or something… very fluid… almost silent. Garrett immediately was on the alert. "Yeah! Sure… I could use a partner. Otherwise… I'd likely kill the ball before my time ran out."

"You come here often?" MacLeod asked.

"Couple times a week," Garrett replied. A buzzer sounded and the two men below on the court stopped running, bent over and were laughing as they took a breather before packing up and leaving. Garrett descended the stairs, MacLeod behind him, and opened the door to the court. He passed a joke on to the two men leaving… he'd seen them before, spoken with them several times… but didn't really know them. The door shut and he and MacLeod were alone on the court. "I warn you," Garrett said, as he made ready to serve the ball, "I play for keeps."

"So do I," MacLeod said crouching to be ready to return the serve.

Garrett nodded, tossed the ball and slammed into it with his racquet for all he was worth. MacLeod ran past him… hit the ball after it bounced and returned it forcefully. Garrett grinned as he continued the volley. It was going to be a great workout!

The buzzer sounding the end of their time on the court sounded far too soon it seemed. Both men were sweat-drenched and breathing heavily.

MacLeod looked over at Garrett with a grin and slight nod of his head. "Buy you a carrot juice."

Garrett smiled and laughed as he gathered his things. "Make it an apple and you got a deal," he winked. After showering and re-dressing, Garrett glanced at his watch. He could spend about half an hour here before heading to the studio. He still had copy to go over and game films to look at to prepare for tonight's broadcast. He was likely falling behind on his new job due to this mess with Di Hamilton. At that moment he realized that for the first time since he'd found her body washed up on his beach, he'd actually spent some time not thinking about her and her predicament.

In the juice bar, he found MacLeod waiting for him. The man held up an apple juice with a grin and Garrett popped the top off the jar and downed it. "Ahh… " he said and sat on one of the high stools. "So you new around here?" Garrett asked.

"Me… no. I was here with a friend recently. I was in town and since I liked the place, I thought I'd pay for a day-pass."

"Then you won't be joining us?" When MacLeod shook his head, Garrett laughed. "Guess I'll have to keep looking for a partner then."

"You're pretty good," the man said.

"Thanks. I have to stay in shape somehow. I'm a minor celebrity in this town."

"Really?"

"Sports on the local independent."

"Nice pay?"

"Not bad. Great hours. I get to go to high school games… a few college games… and if the main anchor is busy… a pro game or two."

MacLeod laughed and tossed his empty juice bottle into the trash. "Sounds like a good life. I hope you get the most out of it."

"Yeah… me too."

MacLeod stood up and offered him his hand. "Good luck then." He shouldered his bag and left.

Garrett finished his juice thoughtfully and wondered if MacLeod had been pumping him for information. "Get a grip… Sunderson!" he finally chuckled as he tossed his juice. "After all… you really don't know anything." But he did know something… and it preyed on his mind.

-----

Duncan had been about ready to leave the gym when he'd seen the pre-immortal come in. He hadn't overheard anything about Diana… other than what was on the news. A little checking had gotten the young man's name… and he'd seen the opening on the racquetball court as the perfect chance to get to know him a little. He wondered off-hand if Diana had been watching the man… or if he'd been in on her "accident" somehow. But after a half-hour of batting the ball back and forth… Duncan decided that Sunderson was exactly what he appeared to be… a pleasant young man who enjoyed life in the public eye. Duncan found he rather hoped that the young man would get that life… and not end up prematurely on a slab… and in the game.

But Garrett Sunderson was not his responsibility. Richie would need his attention for some time to come. The young man, while adjusting well to the concept that he was immortal due to his having known about Duncan, was still untrained and unprepared for the game. Duncan had not wanted to train him prior to something happening, for fear Richie would figure it out… and his chance of immortality would be lost.

Richie had been lucky recently in that premature challenge to Annie Devlin. Duncan just hoped he could keep Richie from going off half-cocked against the next immortal he came up against. Richie reminded him of other students he'd had… impetuous… filled with a sense of their own immortality and totally unprepared for the reality of the immortal life with its fight to the death challenges.

Thinking back over the centuries and what had happened to his students, Duncan again felt unprepared to be Richie's mentor and teacher. Again his self-doubt sought to overwhelm him. He'd tried to teach them as he'd been taught… both by Connor and by the father who had abandoned him once he'd returned from the dead. He'd tried to instill honor and confidence into his students. He'd tried to be certain that they understood not to go looking for a fight… but to meet it head on when it came.

But of them all… only Diana and Greg Powers still lived. Greg was confused these days and Duncan despaired of his ever straightening out his life again. But Diana… If someone were after her… Duncan felt certain that her days were numbered. She was in hiding. She had to be. But where? If it had happened suddenly… where would she have gone and whom would she have trusted?

Duncan watched Garrett Sunderson saunter out of the gym, throw his bag in the back of his car and drive off. Did he know Diana? Was he hiding something? Duncan started his rental car and followed. Several hours later, he watched the young man leave the studio. So far he was exactly what he'd said he was. Still Duncan followed, parking at last on one of the sandy beach streets with houses that bordered the ocean. The rain earlier had washed the street down so that the pavement was once again visible. Yet already, the omnipresent offshore breeze was drying out the white sand and it lifted in small cyclones… whirling about on the surface of the sand. Soon the road would be covered again.

Sunderson entered his condo and turned on the lights. Then he swiftly turned them off again… as if wanting to be certain no one could see in. Duncan smiled as he pulled his _katana_ from the trunk and adjusted his coat. He crept closer to Sunderson's condo… feeling at last the slight tingle of another immortal. He drew his blade just in case. After all… it might be whoever was after Diana.

As he reached the front door, he could feel the other immortal just on the far side. Slowly he intoned just loud enough for the other to hear. "I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."

"Duncan?" came Diana's voice. She opened the screen. In the darkness he could see light on her blade. "Well don't just stand there… or don't you trust me?"

Duncan chuckled and entered; sweeping her into his arms with the sudden realization that she really was alive and well. He hadn't lost her as he'd lost the others. She pushed at him slightly so he dropped his embrace. "Just glad you're alive." He glanced over to shadowy figure of Sunderson. "How much does he know?"

Sunderson lowered the baseball bat. "I take it you're like her… and that those swords can do more damage than you can heal."

"Something like that." He turned to Diana, "What happened? Why did you involve him?"

"I sorta washed up dead on his beach. It wasn't exactly my idea. He saw more than he should have."

"Hey!" Sunderson said. "_He_ is standing right here!"

"Draw the blinds Garrett… we need to talk," Diana ordered and then hugged Duncan. "I'm glad you're here."

"Had to check on my favorite student," Duncan murmured. He brushed her auburn hair back and kissed her forehead. "I was worried."

"Me too," Diana replied, "but I was handling it. Still… it's good to see you again."

By this time, Garrett had drawn the blinds, turned on a small lamp that gave off "mood" lighting, and was bustling about making coffee. "Let me guess… old friend?"

Duncan nodded and thanked the young man. He met Diana's gaze. She looked uncomfortable. "I can take you back to Seacouver with me. It's drivable."

"Thanks… but no thanks." Diana sipped on the coffee and then set it down. "I'm not your student anymore, Duncan and you have enough on your mind. I can handle this. I'm just glad you know that I'm alive. I'd planned on dropping you a postcard once I got settled somewhere." She rubbed her hands up and down her arms thoughtfully.

"Tell me what happened," Duncan urged.

Diana nodded and eyed Sunderson. Finally, as if deciding that there was no other way for it, she told him about the fight in the parking garage and rescuing the young woman who'd witnessed it… and the accident. She omitted the term swords in mentioning the fight.

"I tried to help her… she's dead because of me."

"In the long run…" Duncan added. "It might have thrown off whoever was looking for you. The body could have been taken for yours except for a few minor details.

"And the head might be too decomposed if it's even found," Diana added softly. "She'd dyed and styled her hair like mine."

"What about her family? Friends?" Garrett asked.

Diana shook her head. "I did some on-line research earlier on her. I don't know if she had any family. As for friends…?" Her voice trailed off as she shrugged. "I just need time to get out of town."

"Then let me help with that. I have some contacts. I can get you a new set of identity papers… whatever you need," Duncan explained.

"I already have some," Diana said with a shake of her head. "I planned for this years ago. Really… I was paying attention to you all those years ago." She offered him a rueful smile. "I just have to leave. I'd have done so already… but I wanted to be certain Garrett was all right with what he'd learned. That he'd be fine… that he wouldn't tell anyone. Otherwise… you'd have missed me." Diana flashed the first real smile Duncan had seen all evening.

Garrett snapped his fingers. "I've got it! The guys after you are government people… like in the **_X-Files_**. They want to study and test you."

"No Garrett. They want us dead," Duncan explained. Again he wondered how much to tell this young man. "There are a group of men who know about us and fear us. They seek to prevent our survival."

"Kind of a Master Race?" Garrett laughed lightly.

"Hardly," Diana protested. "We're just people who want to survive Garrett. We're hard to kill… but our enemies keep trying."

"So… let me guess. They think you're dead because this girl lost her head?"

Neither Diana nor Duncan said a word.

"That's it! That's the way you die! Holy crap!" Garrett's sports reporter side was in full gear as he paced about excitedly. "Man what a story this would be!"

Diana rose swiftly. "Garrett… you can't. You can't even hint at this. It would mean your death… or at least the end of your career and would set Duncan and me up for target practice. We'd not have a moment's peace. We'd be hunted non-stop."

"And what's going on now?" Garrett's voice rose in the argument.

"Now," Diana said evenly and at a nod from Duncan, "for the most part… we can lead normal lives until we are found. Then we vanish, move on, and start again."

"Change your name," added Garrett as he sat heavily.

"Sometimes," Duncan chuckled. "At the very least… we move on and leave our old lives behind."

Garrett leaned back thoughtfully and then pursed his brow in confusion. "So… how many times have you had to do this Di?"

"A few," she replied with a shrug.

"And you?" Garrett met Duncan's gaze. His reporter's mind was whirling with the unspoken possibilities here. "How old _are_ you?"

Duncan smiled almost to himself. Finally he replied. "I was four hundred my last birthday."

"Years?" Garrett gulped wide-eyed. When Duncan nodded, Garrett rose and pulled a bottle of scotch from under a table. "I think I need something more than coffee… anyone else?"

Duncan nodded. "I always did like good scotch."

Diana tittered and picked up her coffee. "Just sweeten my coffee Garrett." She held it out while he poured.

This was going to be a long night.

-----


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Joe Dawson knew MacLeod was out of town. He hadn't yet had a chance to talk to Greta Conklin, but he'd left a message for her to stop by his office.

At a light knock on the door, he glanced up to see the petite blonde smile at him from behind her thick glasses. "You wanted to see me?" she asked in her raspy voice. Her accent still bore the signs of her Texas upbringing.

"Hey, yeah… c'mon in Greta," Joe motioned her to the chair opposite his desk. Since taking charge for the Northwest American Watcher Bureau in the wake of Horton's treason, he'd been camped out in James' old office at the old Patterson Manor on Whitethorn Avenue. The digs were a little more lavish than what he was use to, but James had always had excellent taste.

"Ya want something to drink?" he asked nervously.

Greta gazed at him levelly through glasses, her head tilting slightly to one side. "You've heard something about Diana?"

Joe's breath caught in his throat and he wondered if he truly were that transparent. "No," he replied softly.

Greta's shoulders sagged as a gasp escaped her throat. "I was so afraid you'd heard something… that I was being re-assigned."

"You think Diana Hamilton might still be alive?" Joe hated to hear that edge of hope in the woman's voice.

"N-n-no," she replied with a heavy sigh.

"Sounds like you think the world of Ms. Hamilton. Have you had personal contact with her?"

Greta gazed at her hands, clenching and pulling at a piece of tissue until it was shredded. "We had a conversation in an elevator once. Greta's voice was barely audible.

"And you reported it?" Joe wanted to tell her it was all right… that he understood… but to do so would likely make known his own involvement.

"No." Tears welled up in Greta's eyes. "It was nothing. The elevator stalled and we laughed and joked about it until it started again. She had no idea who I was or that I was following her. It lasted barely five minutes."

Joe sighed deeply. He'd been in the same predicament when Duncan

MacLeod had shown up at the bookstore. But then things had gone crazy, and he'd had to explain to MacLeod just who and what the Watchers were. He'd _had_ to set him straight. Had he wanted to tell the Highlander? Had he wanted that personal relationship… one that truly allowed him to pick the brain of a man who counted his birthdays in centuries… not decades? "You still should have included that conversation in a report," he finally said.

"Yes sir."

"Now then," Joe opened Diana's file. "I want to pick your brain about her a bit."

Greta's brow knotted incuriosity. "Why?"

"Duncan MacLeod has gone to San Francisco to investigate Ms. Hamilton's accident."

Greta bit her lip.

"You know something?"

Greta leaned forward, carefully looking around as if the walls might have ears. "It wasn't an accident."

Joe gestured for her to continue.

"I mean… I didn't see anything… but on the news reports when they dragged the car out of the bay… the camera panned over the crowd."

"Go on…"

"I saw Bill Hoskins and John Martin in the crowd of observers."

Joe froze. His heart pounded in his ears. Hoskins and Martin were two of Horton's associates and had been drummed out along with his brother-in-law. If they were there… then James might be there as well. What was he up to? He'd promised to remain away from immortals… especially MacLeod. Joe slowly rubbed a finger across his forehead where a tension headache was definitely making its presence known to him. He might need to contact James to verify what he was doing. Joe had put his career on the line in asking that James not be killed. He could still hear Lynn's passionate weeping on the subject. She was angry with her father. She hated him for having killed Robert… but he was still her father. Joe had stood before the tribunal and assured them that James Horton would go quietly into retirement. If he hadn't… then Joe might need to take care of it… personally.

"It could be a coincidence," he said with a shrug. He didn't believe it… and looking into Greta's fearful gaze, he knew that she didn't believe it either. "Still… I'll look into it."

Greta nodded. "Is there anything I can do? I could go to San Francisco for you… or do some research."

"Thanks," Joe replied. "I have someone currently on MacLeod and I don't think we need anyone else in research at present. If something comes up about Diana Hamilton though, I'll let you know."

"So I'm to be reassigned?"

Joe nodded reluctantly and handed her a folder. "It'll take you a few days to get up to speed on her. Her current watcher has asked to retire by the end of the year. It was the truth… and it was the assignment he'd have given her anyway had Duncan MacLeod not wanted to look into the matter. The only lie was that there was no one currently on MacLeod. Not in San Francisco. Joe knew that he was taking a big chance by not assigning a temporary Watcher while MacLeod was out of town… but if was ever to gain MacLeod's trust… he needed to show that he trusted him.

Greta briefly examined the file, grunted her assent of the assignment and rose. She still seemed reluctant… as if moving on to a new assignment was the final realization that Diana Hamilton was dead. Pausing with one hand on the doorknob she glanced back at Joe. "If something does come up… anything… I still want to know."

Joe nodded, and hoped he could tell her something. He knew what it was like to lose an immortal to the game. He still felt badly that his first assignment Roy Ferrer had lost a challenge and died. He'd felt so helpless standing there and just watching it happen. When he'd moved on to MacLeod though, he'd realized that moving on quickly was for the best… even if they'd given him an assignment whose stable life did not seem to allow for the game. "I promise," he told Greta… hoping he couldn't tell that he wasn't being quite truthful.

She nodded reluctantly and left.

Joe sat for some time staring at the spines of the books on the floor-to-ceiling bookcases of the office. Horton had amassed quite a few chronicles in his personal collection… a collection that was now at Joe Dawson's disposal. Maybe he should begin going through them to find answers about what had happened to James… and what sort of resources he might still have. God help them all if he'd managed to copy everything before his dismissal.

With a snort of exasperation, the Watcher rose awkwardly, leaned on his cane and then shuffled over to the bookcases. He might as well get started.

-----

By mid-morning, Garrett Sunderson was passed out snoring in the recliner while Duncan and Diana continued to talk quietly about the situation. Outside, the day was sunny and bright although cool, even for this time of year.

"He's going to be a problem," Duncan murmured and indicated the snoring Garrett.

Diana looked at the reporter over her shoulder and nodded. "That's why I was afraid to just leave him."

"We have to be certain that the Hunters don't connect him with you… and… make certain the immortal who might be after you doesn't find him either. Either way… he'd be dead."

"Any suggestions?" she asked as she sipped the lukewarm coffee and grimaced. She'd drunk too much of it overnight and it seemed bitter this morning. It even felt as if it was gritting against her teeth. She set the cup down with an audible sigh. "He's too much in the public eye to just vanish, though."

Duncan shook his head. "The main thing is to get you out of town without anyone becoming the wiser that you're still alive. I don't even want to know where you're going… not for a while. That way you can hide and rebuild a life." He started suddenly. "Did you hear that?"

Diana shook her head. She'd heard nothing, but in the silence of the moment she thought she did hear someone outside the bungalow.

With that last soft brush of something along the exterior wall, Duncan rose quietly and eased toward the door. He motioned Diana to move back and get down behind the counter.

She did so with a pointed glance at her teacher. She wasn't some helpless female. He looked at her more forcefully as if to say, "Just do it." She crouched behind the counter… knife in hand… in case she was needed. He was right… if it were nothing… then she shouldn't be seen… not yet.

Duncan adjusted his stance so that he could just see through the blinds covering the window next to the door and make out the figure trying to look through the blinds. _Damn! Evidently someone's already looking into Sunderson and his possible connection to Diana!_ Duncan motioned to Diana to stay down and remain quiet. He clasped the doorknob, took a deep cleansing breath and yanked the door open.

The man outside started in surprise even as Duncan hauled him in and slammed the door. He pushed the man against the wall.

"Who are you? What do you want?" he barked even as he realized that it was the same man who had been hanging around Diana's office yesterday.

"N—no one," the man stuttered.

"Really?" Duncan persisted and snatched at the man's wrist. "Looks like a Watcher tattoo to me."

The man paled and then crunched his teeth together. For a moment Duncan got the telltale aroma of bitter almonds. The man's eyes rolled up and he slumped in the Highlander's hands. "Dammit!" Duncan muttered as he eased the man to the floor. "It doesn't have to be this way." He was going through the man's pockets when a startled Sunderson yawped as he woke up.

Diana eased forward, the knife still in her hands. "This is a Watcher?"

Duncan showed her the man's wrist. "He must have been one of Horton's people. They seem to have the suicide instructions if confronted."

"What happened?" Sunderson asked as he sat up. He glanced at the body and paled. "This isn't good… is it?" He reached for the phone.

Diana crossed to him swiftly and pulled it from his hands.

"What are you doing, Di?" Sunderson gasped. "We have to report this!"

Diana glanced back at Duncan who nodded. "We will Garrett… but give us a chance to find out who he was and why he was here."

"How did he die?" Sunderson was now on his feet, and more interested in the body than the phone. Diana sighed thankfully and replaced it in its cradle. Nervously she tapped the handset and then reached down to pull the connection loose… purely as a delay tactic. There was an extension in the bedroom… but she thought that was all. She backed away to disable it as well.

Duncan meanwhile was going through the man's wallet. "Says here his name is William S. Hopkins and that he's a freelance writer." He held up a business card between two fingers.

"A writer? Jesus he was just likely here to interview me!" Sunderson shouted. "Now you've killed him!"

Duncan rose so that his face and Sunderson's were only inches apart. "I didn't kill him. He killed himself when I asked him why he was here."

"Oh," Sunderson replied quietly. He glanced down. "Wild tattoo."

Duncan nodded. "That's one these men who want to kill us use to identify one another. They were members of another group that only wants to study us."

"So he wasn't here to interview me?" Sunderson sounded almost disappointed.

By that time, Diana had returned from the bedroom. "There's another one creeping around the back."

Duncan growled slightly. He seemed ready to attack.

Sunderson clasped his arm. "Let me. I'm not one of you guys. I can just step outside… manage to see him… talk to him… whatever."

Duncan looked at him thoughtfully and then at Diana's nod. Perhaps it would work. He put his hand on the knob and a finger to his lips. "Not a word about me or Diana."

"Scout's honor," beamed Sunderson.

Diana rolled her eyes. He was evidently once more in secret agent mode. She shook her head. "Garrett… just don't get cute. You don't know me… you don't know anything… remember?"

Garrett winked as he laughed, "Gotcha." Then he slowly sauntered out of the door.

Duncan closed it behind him and watched through the blinds as Sunderson stretched as if getting ready to run. In mid-stretch he looked up and called out to the other man. Slowly he trotted over to him. Duncan wished he could hear what they were saying. Diana leaned in beside him to watch.

"He's certainly got courage."

"It could get him killed," Duncan warned.

"I know," she replied as she offered him a weak smile. It was a calculated risk they were taking. Each of them hoped that it worked.

-----

A few moments later they could hear voices as Garrett and the other man headed toward the door. The tone of their voices was chatty. Duncan motioned Diana to drag the body out of sight as he waited beside the door. She grabbed Hoskins' hands and pulled him behind the counter where she crouched once more.

"Yeah sure," Garrett was saying as he opened the door. "You can use the phone. Brother… do I know what it's like to have car problems." He stomped his feet at the door as he entered and moved aside, turning to motion the other man in.

"Thanks, buddy," the man said as he entered the dim bungalow. "I really do appreciate this." Duncan slammed the door shut and swiftly rammed a fist into the man's face. Blood spurted. He hit him again. Unconscious, the man slumped into Sunderson's arms.

"Tattoo?" Sunderson asked.

Duncan held up a wrist to show him. Then he pried open the man's mouth looking for a capsule. He saw nothing. After running a finger around the man's mouth, Duncan shrugged. "Get something to tie him up. He rummaged through the man's pockets and found his wallet. "John David Martin." Noting that the man was beginning to come around, Duncan caught the extension cord that Diana tossed him and secured the man's hands behind him. He grasped the Martin's jaw. "We're not gonna have any trouble out of you… are we?"

Martin's eyes widened in fear. He nodded.

"Good. Do you know who I am?"

Martin looked around seeing only Sunderson. "Duncan MacLeod."

"You know I don't kill people… right?"

Martin stared at him and then nodded reluctantly.

"You and your friend were misled. He killed himself."

Martin stared, breathing raggedly as blood dripped from his swollen and bloody nose. It was likely broken. Duncan accepted a handkerchief from Sunderson and pressed it gently to Martin's nose. "I don't want to see anyone else die. Now then… why are you here?"

"We were investigating Diana Hamilton's death. Our superiors thought there was something suspicious about it." He tried to look at Sunderson.

Duncan grunted. "She's dead. Sometimes accidents happen."

Martin avoided the Highlander's piercing glance. "Now why are you here?"

Martin shrugged. "Just checking things out. She was chummy with Sunderson before her death, and yesterday you were seen talking to him."

"Chummy?" Sunderson guffawed. "Yeah… a drink at the juice bar of the club and a few workouts. "Next you'll be saying I've got her stashed in my bed!"

Duncan gave him a pained glance. Sunderson shut up. "Now then Mr. Martin. Why did your friend commit suicide?"

Martin shrugged. "I don't know. He believed we shouldn't reveal anything."

"But you're wiser than that."

Martin shrugged. "I have a wife… a family. I don't want to die if I can help it." The bleeding seemed to have stopped. Duncan refolded the handkerchief and gently wiped off some of the blood. "I've already lost my job…" He stopped, aware that he was offering information when Duncan paused in thought at Martin's words.

"But you still believe we're freaks and should be killed."

"I… I don't know anymore. It made sense at the time… but I don't know. We ran her off the road. We shot her… at least Bill did… I did the driving. But now… I don't know."

"Who gave the orders?" Duncan asked.

Martin shook his head. "No orders. We knew about her. Bill had this idea that we could still get rid of some of you."

Duncan chuckled. "Now why don't I believe that?"

"No really. Bill was really into this. I just sorta went along for the ride."

Duncan leaned closely to him. "And right now you'd say anything to survive."

Martin stared back at the Highlander for a long moment and then nodded. "I want to live."

"And so do I," Duncan replied. "So did Diana. So did Darius." The last was said with a dark undertone. "He didn't deserve to die… not that way."

"I wasn't there."

One of Duncan's hands balled into a fist. He seemed to count to four and then slowly released it. Beating Martin to a pulp would make him feel better… but it wouldn't help the situation. "Of course you weren't," he said and tapped Martin's cheeks. He sat back and considered what to do next. He could just see Diana peeking quietly around the edge of the counter. If Martin should see her… her chances of finding a new life without the hunters after her would be lost.

That seemed to decide it for him. Duncan sat up abruptly, pulled Martin to his feet and manhandled him to the door. "If you want to live… leave here and don't look back." He turned Martin around, removed the cord from about his wrists and pushed him out the door.

As he slammed it shut, Diana rose. "Is that wise? He'll come back."

"He'll have to leave to get some help. Sunderson… do you have a car?"

"Yeah," Garrett mumbled. "Why?"

"It's about to be stolen. Diana, take the rental car and go. I'll lead them off with Sunderson's car. You can leave me a message about where to pick up the rental when you ditch it and I'll take care of it. Sunderson… I'll get your car back to you. But you have to remain mum that Diana is alive or that you know anything about us."

"Duncan that won't work… not now," Diana said. "If these people are as bad as you say, Martin will tell them that Garrett saw us… saw you… and was working with you. Once they go to work on him… it won't be pretty. Besides… there's Hoskins' body." She inclined her head toward the kitchen counter.

"At any rate… we need to get out of here… now," Duncan said resignedly. He looked at Garrett. "You too. Go with Diana in my car."

"Why me?"

"Because you know us. They know you know us. They won't take 'I don't know' for an answer."

Garrett suddenly seemed to understand. His comfortable life in San Francisco and his time as a minor media darling was apparently over. People's lives were at stake. It was time to think of someone besides himself. "And the body?"

Duncan grabbed a rag and began wiping prints off of Hoskins' wallet and body. "We'll have to leave it."

"But the cops will think I killed him!"

Duncan nodded soberly. "They might…if they find it. If the Hunters are organized… they likely will take care of it. But we do need to make it look like you were abducted in case the cops do get here first. You'll need to leave a large quantity of blood somewhere in the house… like… say… your bed?"

Sunderson paled. "How much blood?"

Duncan smiled. "Enough to make it look serious."

"I suppose this means I can't get any money out of my accounts?"

Duncan smiled at Diana. "I think he's catching on. Look Sunderson… I'm trying to save your life."

"And you've thought this through?"

Duncan chuckled. "Actually… I'm making this up as I go along. A hundred years ago this was a lot easier… one of us could have left blood and no one would be the wiser. But modern forensics and technology can be a real problem for immortals. Let's take this one step at a time. We set the house, Diana and I make certain we leave no trace of our presence behind, and we all get out of here… _pronto_. I have a feeling that Martin will be calling for backup. He didn't see Diana… but if we don't hurry… it won't matter."

"Is that so important, Duncan. Why not face these people?" She helped wipe down surfaces and washed their dishes. Other than her trip to the bedroom earlier to pull the plug on the phone… they hadn't been anywhere else in the house since Duncan had arrived. Garrett's sparse furnishings worked in their favor.

"We can't. A confrontation might lead to others learning about us… and about them." Duncan motioned for Garret's palm. "It'll bleed easily and heal quickly." Deftly he made a cut and began to smear blood about the bedroom. Garrett didn't look happy.

As Duncan set the scene and smeared the blood, Diana bandaged Garrett's hand. Once Duncan was satisfied with the way things looked, he motioned for the others to leave. His car was parked up on the main road and he wanted to be certain they had ample time to get out of here. "If you're seen before you reach the car, get back here. I'll have Sunderson's ready to go and we'll think of something else."

Diana nodded, kissed her teacher on one cheek with a small "thank you" and then she and Garrett stepped outside and swiftly made their way to the rental car, parked up on the highway. After they'd reached the car and climbed in, Diana behind the wheel, Garrett mumbled something about Duncan under his breath.

"What did you say?" asked Diana as she started the ignition and pulled out.

"Nothing. Does it matter?" Garrett was cradling his wounded hand.

"It matters to me. Look Garrett. I didn't want you involved in any of this. I shouldn't have told you anything… but I didn't want anything to happen to you. Those men would have come after you anyway… even if I'd not come back… even if Duncan hadn't followed you. They wouldn't have been so nice to you as he was."

Garrett snorted. "Yeah… he's a regular Boy Scout." When Diana laughed merrily he looked at her strangely. "And what does that mean?"

Getting her laughter under control as she drove away, Diana finally replied, "Oh… he's been called that before."

Garrett said nothing; choosing instead to stare morosely out the window as the scenery passed. After some time he sat back and dared to ask, "So… you and MacLeod… you two an item?"

Diana shook her head with a smile. "He was my teacher. I told you that… and my friend. We were never intimately involved. The timing was never right."

"And he's really over four hundred years old?"

"He really is," she replied. So far she'd not seen a car following them. She kept eyeing traffic in the mirrors as they eased onto a highway. Inwardly she prayed that Duncan would also make a clean getaway. She hit the accelerator until they were cruising easily in traffic.

-----

"Dammit!" shouted James Horton as he slammed the phone down. "Those two idiots have been busted and one is dead!"

"Good help is so hard to find these days," Xavier said smoothly.

Horton glared at him. He seemed to seethe with loathing and his fingers itched to pick up a gun… blow St. Cloud's head off… and then behead him properly. But not now… now he needed him.

"One does the best one can," he replied archly. "Which is why you, my friend, are so important. Only you can take care of MacLeod." Horton smiled. It didn't matter which man won the fight. The quickening would take the winner… and while he was still recovering… Horton would put an end to another monstrosity. He smiled. "I need to see about this mess. Coming?"

"I thought I'd work out a bit unless you think MacLeod will be there?" Xavier was all silk and manners today. Even lounging about this morning, he was still impeccably dressed and his voice seldom rose above that of polite conversation. For some reason, Horton wondered if this "thing" thought he was in charge.

"Yes… practice. You need to practice. You're still awkward in a fight. We'll have to do something about that." He smiled pleasantly as he inwardly laughed at that last little dig.

For a moment Xavier's eyes glittered in anger. Then he too smiled as he rose. "Yes… the more I fight… the better I get. It's likely time for another sacrifice. If you find the woman… let me know… I think I'll enjoy taking her head." He bowed his head politely, pivoted sharply and sauntered out of the room.

"One day very soon, my friend," Horton murmured to himself, "you will no longer be of use. I hope I get to rid the world of you when the time comes."

-----


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six:**

Duncan had managed to drive Sunderson's car in the opposite direction that Diana and Sunderson had gone. Like her, he watched the mirrors carefully for many miles as he attempted to discover if he was being followed. Part of him had wanted to wait for Martin and his associates to return… but he understood that now was likely not the time. Martin might have too many with him.

The Highlander led a fairly open and settled existence. Even with Tessa's death and his recent change in living quarters and livelihood… they could find him. He'd have to watch for them. But he knew they were coming. Sooner or later… they would come for him. He needed to step up his training in all forms of combat so that he'd be ready for them.

The important thing right now was to make certain that Diana had truly learned everything he'd taught her and would manage to get away… get out of sight… and be able to settle down someplace quiet… at least for a while. As for Sunderson? Duncan shook his head. Maybe with Diana's help, when and if the time came… he'd make the change well.

That had reminded him of Richie. He'd taken Diana's advice the last time, and had returned to Seacouver after seeing her. Her words to him had finally broken through his miasma to train Richie when Annie Devlin had shown up. But then he'd pretty much handed Richie over to Charlie DeSalvo for some training… at least martial arts if not swords. Seeing Richie still brought Tessa to mind all too clearly… and not Annie, not even Amanda had completely banished her ghost. Every time he looked up, he expected to see her. Every time he rolled over in bed… he reached for her. It still felt as if half of his heart had been cut out… and likely it would continue to feel that way for some time.

Richie's being in his life was like pouring salt on the wound of Tessa's death. It had all been so senseless and he'd been unable to comprehend why it had happened and what he could have done… should have done… to prevent that. A thousand times he wished that he'd gone with them as they left Pallin Wolfe's house. A thousand and one times he wished that he'd been standing there when the junkie had pulled the gun. A thousand and two times he wished that he'd been shot and that somehow… the others weren't.

Duncan closed his eyes momentarily as he pictured what should have been. Then he shook it off and found a parking garage where he could leave Sunderson's car. Carefully he wiped it down and then locked it, leaving the keys under the floor mat before walking away. He would return to Seacouver and wait for a letter, a telegram, or a postcard that would say little but allow him to know that Diana Hamilton was alive and hidden. Then he'd focus on getting Dawson to look into the matter of Hunter involvement in her death… and he'd be on the lookout for Horton's followers.

At least Horton himself was dead. Seldom had the death of a mortal at his hands meant so much to him. He almost wished that Horton had been an immortal himself… just so that he could see the look on the man's face as he legitimately beheaded him. But he wasn't. Duncan had been close enough to the man to know that. Besides… there was Horton's daughter.

No… Duncan would play their game for now by retreating to Seacouver and telling Dawson that he was satisfied that Diana's "death" was one of mischance. That would do for now. And he'd concentrate on Richie. He needed to right now… else Richie Ryan would become another immortal lost all too soon to this ridiculous Game… and the Gathering.

-----

Horton stood within Sunderson's bungalow and seethed as he stared at the place. Hoskins' dead body seemed to accuse him of sloppy planning and he wasn't happy. "You were told to observe and not to confront," he said a bit too calmly and evenly to Martin.

"We were outside the place… just trying to check and see if Sunderson was alone so that we could grab him."

"He evidently wasn't alone," Horton replied.

"No sir. MacLeod grabbed Hoskins and then me after Sunderson lured me in."

Is Sunderson one of them?"

"I couldn't tell. I was pulling out all the stops to stay alive. I even told MacLeod I had a family."

"Did my name come up?"

"No sir. I mean… as far as MacLeod goes… you're dead… right?"

Horton nodded. "And I intend to keep it that way."

"I just tried to play into his illusions and confirm only what he already suspected. I didn't give him anything that he could use. I know better."

Horton smiled. "You did well in that regard. You survived to talk to me. Now tell me again exactly what happened. Does Sunderson know about us and the immortals?"

"Well he knows about us, I'd wager. He likely knows that someone killed Diana Hamilton. As to if he knows about immortals… I don't think that came up in the conversation."

Horton sighed heavily and cricked his neck. Then he smoothly pulled the silenced weapon and fired point-blank at Martin's forehead. Regretfully, he'd have to lose this gun. Calmly he unscrewed the silencer and pocketed it before wiping the gun carefully and dropping it to the floor.

Hopefully when as a concerned anonymous caller, he called the police citing that he'd heard a gunshot, they'd put out an APB for Sunderson that would be more effective than anything that he could do. He just hoped that MacLeod was still in the dark about his own involvement in this. Perhaps he should move up his timetable. Perhaps he should contact his brother-in-law sooner than he'd planned. He'd have to do some damage control and put his own spin on things. He'd have to assure Joseph that he'd had nothing to do with this if it came up in the conversation. He could call about Lynn. His daughter still wasn't talking to him. Yes… Lynn would be the perfect opening to finding out just what Joseph knew… and by extension perhaps… MacLeod.

The utter destruction of Duncan MacLeod was still his main purpose, and he had other plans in motion that would destroy the Highlander once and for all.

Meanwhile, he could concentrate on Sunderson. If the man was running… then he was either one of them, or he knew about them. Either way… he was a dead man. The other loophole was the Hamilton woman. Martin still hadn't been able to confirm if she were alive or dead. Perhaps it was time to pump one of his contacts in the San Francisco police department about the state of the official investigation. Satisfied that the evidence in the bungalow appeared that Sunderson had killed two men and fled, Horton eased out of the house and down the beach where he sauntered along the sand, an oddly dressed man on the winter beach in a suit and topcoat. His narrow tie fluttered in the wind, a red line around his throat like some hideous gash. He was unaware of the effect.

Soon, he would have destroyed them all. He had copies of the records of all active immortals in the Watcher files. It had taken him years to amass them all. He'd entered the files on his computer and had recruited many of the dissatisfied Watchers over the years… the ones angry that someone else had the gift of immortal life… the ones sickened as he was… of the unremitting violence of their lives… and the ones convinced that no immortal could win the game and remain a "good" man. They had to die… all of them. Even the saintly Darius.

Even though his followers had been drummed out of the Watchers for the most part… although a few still remained safely within those ranks… they could still accomplish their goal. One day soon, all the immortals would be dead. The more that they could kill and make certain that the quickenings were lost… that no immortal ever received that power… the sooner the world would be safe for true men. The Game and The Gathering would become meaningless in the greater scheme of things.

-----

The Rocky Mountains gave way to the wide midwestern plains, where the highways were like long straight ribbons of asphalt bisecting the flat landscape. Large wet flakes of snow began to fall and soon covered everything with a winter blanket of heavy white.

The "_thock… thock"_ of the wipers and the hum of the heater were the only sounds in the car. Diana was curled up asleep under a blanket in the passenger seat and Garrett had turned off the radio. He hunched over the wheel, concentrating on the gradually vanishing road before him. Ahead he could see lights off to one side.

He glanced at Diana. She'd insisted on driving through California and over the mountains. She'd controlled every stop… and made certain that their exposure to others had been limited and that neither of their faces was clearly seen. She'd bought hair dye at one stop and had lightened her hair and darkened his. Each time he looked in the rear view mirror and saw dark hair where his Nordic blonde hair had once been… we wondered at what he'd lost and what he'd gained.

He was still a reporter on the grandest of stories. His sojourn as a sports reporter had been more of a testament to his athletic build, his familiarity with playing sports, and his good looks than where his heart truly lay. He wanted to be a real reporter and win a Pulitzer. Hell… every reporter secretly hoped to do work worthy of a Pulitzer… but he didn't just want to do the work… he wanted that baby on his mantel so that he could prove that he was more than just a pretty face. But he was uncertain how he could go about telling this story. Maybe he'd have to write it up as fiction… or perhaps a screenplay. His active imagination could see all of this played out on the big screen… immortal warriors fighting one another with swords throughout the centuries. It could happen. Meanwhile… he'd go along with Diana and her plans, and attempt to learn all that he could.

Slowing carefully, he pulled into the truck stop and parked well away from the lights as Diana always had. She shifted beneath the blanket but didn't awaken. Garrett decided a couple of cups of coffee… maybe a burger would be just the thing. Quietly he alit from the vehicle and softly closed the door behind him so as not to wake her. She'd been running on adrenaline and she really needed to sleep. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he slipped his way across the icy surface of the parking lot, leaving footprints in the snow. His breath made small clouds of mist fog before his face.

In moments he was inside the brightly lit and raucously loud diner. He leaned on the counter near the register and placed an order "to go" and then sauntered over to the jukebox to check out the music. He was finding some really good old tunes on some of the choices, but he doubted he'd be here long enough to hear them. It looked like the regulars… or at least the diners… had put quite a bit in. The playlist was fairly long. He ginned at a passing waitress whose long black hair, plaited into a single braid, swung seductively behind her as she passed. Her dark eyes and exotic features bespoke her Indian heritage. She smiled back at him. Suddenly he felt like himself again. Good looking… well built… a real chick magnet. The worries of the past few days faded away.

Just then his order was called. He smiled back at her and winked as he sauntered confidently to the counter, checked the order and paid, carefully peeling off one of the bills that Diana had given him to hold onto. The cashier's eyes widened and then she fumbled to make change. Evidently she didn't see many hundreds in here.

Garrett stuffed the change in his front jeans pocket… thanked as he picked up the sack and tray with his order… and pushed his way out the front door. The snow was falling even more heavily now. He shivered in the sudden chill of the weather and headed for the car at the far end of the parking lot.

About halfway there a heavyset man with a beard and long brown hair… greasy-looking and blowing in the wind stepped into his path. In his hand was a knife. "Hand it over… now."

Garrett froze. Without a word he shifted the cardboard tray of food and drinks to his right hand and rammed his left into his pocket. He handed the man the wad of bills. The man grinned. For a moment the red neon of the truck stop sign glistened off of a metal tooth. Then Garrett felt his fist slam against his gut. He hissed and stumbled against the man who hit him again. "Thanks, buddy," he said and then was gone.

Garrett stood for a moment… feeling the warm coffee spill down his leg. He shivered in the cold while attempting to draw an easy breath again. He still felt winded from the punch and his gut throbbed, but otherwise he felt fine. Slowly he made his way to the car, his steps slow and hesitant. By the time he was there, the spilt coffee had cooled and his leg felt cold where his pants were wet. He fumbled to open the door and then climbed in awkwardly. For some reason, it was getting harder and harder to move.

Diana sat up with a sudden start. After rubbing her eyes, she asked him. "Where are we?"

Garrett sat for a moment, trying to get his mind around her question and wondering how to tell her that he'd been robbed… that their extra money was gone. He finally shook his head. "I spilled the coffee."

Diana looked at him oddly and then carefully took the tray from his lap. Oddly he felt warm fluid again.

"You fool," Diana said gently. She grabbed the blanket and pushed it against him. Garrett looked down… finding it odd that the blanket was soaking up so much fluid. He hadn't bought large coffees. But it was hard to think. It was even harder to say anything… and now it was getting hard to see.

He smiled at Diana's tear-stained face. "I goofed."

"Yeah. But it'll be fine… you'll see."

Garrett closed his eyes and surrendered to the darkness.

-----

Christmas of 1993 was not one Duncan MacLeod felt like celebrating. For the first time in thirteen Christmases… he was alone. Even Richie had left following his killing of the immortal lawman Mako. Duncan had turned his back on the impetuous youth. If he wouldn't listen to him… he couldn't teach him. Richie had crossed the line and it was time to leave.

Duncan realized as he walked home from the store on Christmas Eve just as darkness was falling that he was alone. Charlie had invited him to join him and his girlfriend Helen tonight but Duncan had figured he'd be a fifth wheel at what would otherwise be a small intimate evening. His friends the Websters had invited him to Christmas dinner… but Duncan had assured them that he'd be fine on his own. He stopped at the door of the closed gym and unlocked the mailbox to get the mail. Once inside, he crossed the darkened gym fumbling for the elevator key as he juggled his grocery bags so that he could handle the freight door.

He entered the elevator, closed the gate, and then turned the key in the controls. The cage rattled slightly as it rose. Once it stopped on the upper level, he locked it into position and then opened the gate. As he entered his rooms, he tossed the mail on the couch and flipped the lights on. Then he set about making a dinner.

Once he'd eaten, he flipped through the mail… stopping at a photo postcard of a snow-covered Cumberland Gap. He turned it over.

"_Happy Holidays! D & G_"

Duncan wadded the card in his hands and sat for a long moment smiling at memories of Diana as a new immortal. She'd made it. She'd reached her destination and let him know that she was fine. He leaned forward and pulled a match from a matchbox. He set fire to the card and dropped it into an ashtray, watching it blacken and curl. Now nothing tangible of her would remain. He could safely talk with Dawson now and find out if Horton's followers were still creating problems. He wouldn't know precisely where she was… but he could guess. He might even ask Dawson if he could see Diana's file. He doubted the old Watcher would allow him to see the file… but he might.

"_D & G_"

Evidently Garrett was still with her. Duncan chuckled and wondered how Diana was managing to keep the young man from turning himself into the authorities and how she was keeping him from writing up that big story he so desperately wanted to tell. Well, she'd manage. She'd always been a clever one. Maybe she wasn't the best or the brightest of his students… but she was a survivor. Maybe he'd take a trip to the Appalachian Mountains one day soon and try to find her… and then again… maybe not. After all… she deserved a quiet life and a place to call home. He was far too well known among to the Watchers. If he went there… they'd find her again… and so would the renegade Watchers.

Glancing around his empty loft… Duncan made a swift decision. He picked up the phone and made a call. "Craig… Duncan. Merry Christmas. Listen… is that invitation for dinner tomorrow still open?"

#30#

_I hope this story has been fulfilling to readers. I figured out fairly early that my choice of villain would not allow for a satisfying confrontation as they eventually do meet Duncan MacLeod within an episode or two of where I ended the story, and that until then, he would have no idea that James Horton was still alive, nor that Xavier St. Cloud had joined forces with him._

_As always,_

_elle_


End file.
